#and you can do as you please with this knowledge

[bestnoncannonship]

With JoAnne Fabrics going out of business I feel it is my duty as a cosplayer, historical costumer, and general sewing gremlin to help teach y'all how not to be reliant on evil overpriced mediocre big box stores for fabric and cosplay supply, cause if I catch y'all going into Homophobia Lobby to get cosplay fabrics imma have to start throwing hands. And frankly you guys all deserve better.

- Find a neighborhood full of brown people. Probably a slightly poorer neighborhod. I know, I know, but they will have small independent fabric stores. Selection in each may vary. Hispanic and Caribbean areas will give you prints that EAT. Muslim areas will give you fabrics with amazing drapery. Indian and Southeast Asian areas will give you beading that would make the House of Worth wet with envy. (Try to avoid oldwhitelady quilting stores unless you are a knitter or are specifically trying to cosplay Kirsten Larson.) (Also ask while you're there for lunch/dinner spot recommendations. Your fabric store guy usually has a buddy with a joint nextdoor with the best *insert relevant ethnic food here* you'll ever put in your mouth.)

- DEVELOP A RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OWNER OF SAID STORE. This I cannot stress enough. Abdul, my fabric guy, can and will get me whatever I want cause he knows me, knows I bring in other young people, and knows I will be back every month for more. Indie fabric stores tend to have older clients. They are anxious to see faces under 60. Just chat with whoever is in there about the kind of stuff you want and need and they will help you. This also frequently leads to discounts. I have not paid listed price for fabric in years and just walked out of Abdul's with 7~ yards of gorgeous teal satin for 10 bucks. Not a yard. Total.

- Do not be afraid of mess. The best shit comes from stores that look like a hurricane went through them. Don't try to understand the organization. (One day, 4 years into your relationship with the store, suddenly the fabric gods will reveal the knowledge to you.) Again, talk to whoever is in there about your project. They'll help.

- Give up on one stop shopping. Get your crafting supplies elsewhere. Like a small independent hardware store. There's usually an old guy in there that reminds you of an uncle who will also help you.

-Worbla and whatever other Cosplay Specific Material you're using is a fatphobic material straight from Satan's hot taint, you do not need it, and any old hardware/tractor supply dad will help you find better, more durable armor/weapon/detailing material. Don't snub your nose at paper mache and plaster of paris. Venetian Mask makers have been using it for years. Balsa wood is also your friend. Hardware store Uncles will teach you to work with both.

- Elderly people are your bffs. If you see an old person TALK TO THEM. They know how to do all kinds of shit. I know there's a hesitation around old people because of the political climate and a fear that they may be homo/trans/whatever-phobic, but hey....minds are changed by making friends. My elderly Muslim fabric supplier is an Our Flag Means Death fan because of me gushing about the teal I needed for Stede Bonnet. He wishes me happy pride now. He put bolt of rainbow in the window in June and kept it up all summer. And he'd never had a thought about queers before me.

- Don't feel limited to Craft and Fabric stores. Hardware stores are cool. They stock outdoor fabrics and umbrella and furniture covers that are very durable....my first cosplay was made out of patio furniture covers. Also upholstery stores and upholsterers have velvets and damasks and faux leather and real leather and all sorts of rich textures. Most of them will part with a few yards pretty cheap. Second hand sheets and bedspreads and curtains also make some really cool garments. A significant amount of my ren fair garb started as household goods.

- If you are forced to order fabric online, please for the love of all that is holy DO NOT BUY FROM MOOD or any other famous store. You're paying for their branding and their place on certain reality shows I will not mention. Indie is always cheaper for the quality and usually not abusing their workers.

- If the fabric/hobby/hardware/upholstery/etc store you develop a relationship with is inconveniently far from you, see if said owner is willing to take your order via phone and send it to you. You'd be surprised how accommodating people in the crafting and sewing world can be.

It all really comes down to having to form a community. I know finding multiple small stores is a lot less convenient than Joannes. But forming a relationship with a local supplier will, in the long run, yield you much better results AND put money and good back into a community near you.

(And if you're in the NYC area DM me and I'll put you in contact with Abdul. He's the absolute best and I'd do anything to help him and his business grow!!!)

[lexalith]

FRIENDS || Choi Su-Bong (Thanos)

summary: after late-night sexting with your best friend, everything changes. the bond you thought was purely platonic starts to feel deeper. were these feelings always there, hidden beneath the surface? or did something just… click? is this the start of something real, or the beginning of a mistake that could ruin everything?

warnings: aged up female reader (they’re both in their late twenties) (MDNI), smut (masturbation, fingering, public sex, p in v, oral sex (f and m), sexting, edging, praising, unprotected sex (don’t be silly)) semi and minsu are victims of the reader’s and subong’s freakiness, angst (name calling, miscommunication, pushing, throwing things, lying, deception, fear of commitment, reader refuses to help him at some point, slapping, slutshame remarks), overuse of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ (lmaoo), subong should be a warning himself, fwb dynamic, reader uses someone to forget subong, drug use and addiction.

a/n: i’ve never ever written anything here on tumblr before, so i don’t really know what i’m doing, help. also, english isn’t my first language, so mistakes should be present!! lowercase is intentional. this is an au with no games. text messages are in different colors (orange for the reader, purple for subong). the reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, this is LOOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs that inspired me to write this: friends — chase atlantic || back to friends — sombr || heartbeat — childish gambino || casual — chappell roan

this fic was also inspired by @jedisupernova ‘s writing, check out her page and fics!!! (they’re soooo good)

you’re still thinking about what that guy said. it wasn’t even a big deal, not really. just some random jerk at the club who’d had a few too many drinks and decided to share his unfiltered thoughts about your body. “you’re not really my type,” he’d said, like you’d asked. then he’d laughed and added, “not many guys would go for that.”

it shouldn’t bother you. you know it shouldn’t. but now, a few nights later, it’s stuck in your head, looping like a song you can’t turn off. so, lying in bed, scrolling aimlessly, you do what you always do when something’s bugging you—you text him. your best friend.

subong. are you awake?

yes ma’am. why?

i got a random question. but like, it’s not that deep

???

do you think i’m attractive?

you fire it off without overthinking, like it’s no big deal. it’s not weird to ask your best friend something like this. right?

it takes him a few minutes to reply.

what kind of question is that?

just answer

i’m too high for this shit, bro

you’re not high🙄 liar

i wish i were

omfg can you just say yes or no? please? but be honest, i promise i won’t get mad

yeah, i think u are

really?

sure thinggg, u’re hot mama

dude quit playing, i’m being serious over here

i’m not fucking playing

okay you think i’m attractive but like… what kind of attractive? cute attractive? like awwww. or i’d-fuck-you-raw attractive?

what are we even talking about

why can’t you just answer?😭

what is this for?

for my knowledge

tf is that supposed to mean?

you stare at the screen, mentally deciding whether you should tell him about what happened or not. you hadn’t told him before, not wanting to give it more attention. but this time, you decide to.

ugh, remember i went clubbing the other day? well this dude was being an asshole to me and he said some stuff and i can’t stop thinking about it so just be fucking honest and answer my question

some stuff? what stuff?

he said, and i quote ‘not many guys would go for that’. ‘that’ is me, btw💀

who tf is this dude?

bruh idk, some random guy, it doesn’t matter

it does?

are you gonna answer my question or no?

yeah. i think u r both kinds.

good, good, you think to yourself. his reply makes you relax a little, the knot in your stomach loosening. he thinks you’re attractive. of course he does—he’s your best friend, and best friends are supposed to hype you up.

for a moment, you stare at your phone, chewing on your bottom lip. you know you should leave it there, let it go. but something keeps tugging at you.

so, hypothetically, would you… yk, with me?

the second you hit send, panic sets in. your pulse skyrockets, and you almost want to throw your phone across the room. why did you do that? why couldn’t you just shut up? but you don’t have time to spiral, because the dots appear almost immediately.

are u serious?

and you freeze. your fingers hover over the screen, but you can’t bring yourself to type anything back. what kind of answer is that?

alr, imma be honest. yeah i would

your heart stops. you blink at the message, reading it again and again, like the words might change if you look long enough. you weren’t prepared for this.

subong’s typing…

would u? with me?

you want to lie, to brush it off, but your fingers move before your brain can stop them.

maybe

the dots pop up again. then disappear. then pop up again.

maybe?? that means yes. cmon i’m hot as hell, baby, u know it. u’ve probably touched yourself thinking about me at least once

wtf bro you’re giving me the biggest ick rn 💀

but have u?

and you? i bet you jerk off to my insta photos, perv. don’t even start lmaoo

can’t help it when u look that good💯

you stare at his message, your mind scrambling to process it. you feel your breath catch in your throat. the shock should be overwhelming, but instead, you feel a strange warmth spread through you.

you didn’t expect this. the idea that he’s been thinking about you like that… it sends a shiver down your spine. you should probably tell him to stop, tell him it’s too much, but instead, you feel yourself leaning in, pulled toward this conversation in a way you didn’t think you would be.

i may or may not have done the same with your insta pics

i knew itttt señorita 🙏🏼

shut up

how many times?

why do you wanna know?🤨

i answered ur stupid ass questions, now u answer mine

maybe like idk, two?

no fucking way, just two????????

you think it’s not enough or what???? how many times have you done it?

more than u wanna know

how bad are we talking?

so bad i’ve lost count. u really want me to get into details?

maybe i do

bro, let’s just say that everytime u post i’m over here fighting a battle

you do realize i’m your bestfriend right?

yeah, so?

so aren’t there any girls to jerk off to instead of me???

yeah but they don’t make me as hard

you stare at the screen, your heart pounding, your legs squeezing together instinctively. what the hell is happening right now? and then another message comes through.

even saying this shit is getting me worked up

what???😭 you’re hard??

yeah bro, what's a guy supposed to do when his best friend asks if he would fuck her?

it was hypothetical

hypothetically speaking, if a guy was attracted to his best friend, he'd probably be rock fucking hard right now. so yeah, i'm fucking hard, girl

your stomach flips at the bluntness of his words. you can feel the blood rushing to your face as you stare at the message.

too much info, subong

nahhh, u asked. u wanted details, so here they are

okay… should i leave you to it?

fuck no

damn alr, suffer then🙄

could u help me out?

help you out?????????????

with a pic of u or smth

boy whatttttttttt

what?

i’m not sending you fucking nudes wtf 💀💀

no one asked for that, stupid. just a pic of u

just a pic of you. the request feels so simple. he’s your bestfriend—it’s not that big of a deal, right? especially after everything you’ve both just confessed to each other.

your eyes flick toward the mirror in your room. you’re in your pajamas. no bra. you know how it looks. it’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t think twice about wearing around him in person, but now, with this conversation, it feels different. your legs carry you to the mirror almost on autopilot. you pick up your phone and angle it toward your reflection. you shouldn’t even be entertaining this. but instead, you snap the picture. you stare at it for a moment, biting your lip. it’s not explicit—it’s just you. but still… you know exactly how he’ll see it.

your thumb hovers over the send button, hesitation gripping you. a hundred reasons not to do this race through your head, but one single thought drowns them all out: you want to know how he’ll react. before you can second-guess yourself, you hit send. the moment it delivers, your stomach drops, a mix of adrenaline and regret washing over you. you sit down on the edge of your bed, staring at the screen, waiting for his response, your heart pounding louder with every passing second.

hoooooooooly shitttttttttt

it’s just a pic

yeah, a pic of u looking like that

im just in my pajamas

and i’m hornier now, if that’s even possible

subong you can’t just say stuff like that

why not? we always tell each other everything

i should’ve thrown on a hoodie

i’d still be thinking of what’s underneath

well, glad i could help your horny ass🫡 enjoy or whatever

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

subong’s typing…

subong’s online

you watch the dots—flickering like they're mocking you. you can't help but wonder what he's typing—or if he's second-guessing whatever bold thing he's about to say. but then, they disappear. nothing. you frown, staring at the screen, waiting a few more seconds. still nothing. you realize exactly what he's probably doing. you bite your lip, heat creeping up your neck as the image forms in your mind: him, sitting there, hand wrapped around his dick, staring at the picture you sent.

you feel like you need to do something—anything—to distract yourself. you toss your phone onto the bed and reach for the remote, flipping on a random tv show. you let the noise fill the silence, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. it's a few minutes later when your phone dings. the sound cuts through the room like a knife, and you hesitate for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally reaching for it.

it's him. he sent a picture.

these are my pajamas. now we’re even, baby

him, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless and wearing only a pair of tight black briefs. the way he's posing is so over the top... he's trying way too hard. his expression is almost comical, like he's not really sure if he's pulling it off but is hoping you'll think he is. you can't help it—you stifle a laugh. but then your eyes drop, and that laughter dies in your throat. the bulge is so obvious, pushing against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. it's not just visible, it's big. big enough that your pulse spikes, and you forget to breathe for a second. that laughter you were holding back? gone. you glance back at his goofy grin in the mirror, but it's no longer funny. shit. you’re wet.

you don't even know how it happens. one moment, you're staring at his picture, then a teasing comment here, a bold reply there—and before you know it, you're lying on your bed, your phone clutched in one hand and your other slipping between your thighs, pressed against the growing ache he's stoked with every message. you've never gone this far with him before—always ignoring his obvious flirting. but you can’t stop now. and he isn’t shy about it either, telling you with detail everything he would do to you.

u'd look soooo fucking good begging under me, baby

and what if i don’t?

then i'd make u

mhmmm, how?

fuck, i’d bury my face between those thighs and eat u out until u can’t take it anymore

a soft gasp escapes your lips as you read, your body reacting to the vivid images his words paint in your mind. you know you shouldn't be doing this—not with him—but the way he's describing everything makes you forget about all the reasons why. you’re far past the point of feeling shy too. you bite your lip, barely believing yourself as you hit send.

i wish you could feel how wet i am just thinking about you fucking me from behind

god damn girl, i’d stretch that pussy so good my dick is the only thing u’d think about for weeks

and then, it's not just texting anymore—you're sending pictures, even though you swore you wouldn't. the first one is a close-up of your fingers, glistening with your juices. his reply comes almost instantly, not as a text but as a voice message. “shit, baby, you're f-fucking killing me... mhmm... look at that. you're so fucking wet f’me, I can almost taste it through the screen... fuck...” his voice is low and rough, broken by soft, shaky breaths. you can hear him stroking himself, moans slipping out between words. you're losing your damn mind over it, replaying the voice message again and again—fingers curling inside of you as you push them in and out, wishing it were his fingers instead of yours.

he sends a pic too. this time, he leaves nothing to the imagination. it’s a selfie, his face barely visible at the corner. the center of attention is his hard dick, hand wrapped around it, tip leaking precum. and the only thing that comes to your mind right there and then is just how badly you want to take him in your mouth.

one picture leads to another, the messages growing dirtier with every exchange. his words are filthy, his photos even filthier, and the way he talks about your body—what he'd do to it, what he's imagining—fucking hell. your breathing quickens, your body burning with need, and before you know it, that familiar tension starts to coil low in your stomach.

shit, subong… i’m close

u’re gonna cum for me? cmon pretty girl, let me hear you

you hit record just as your orgasm crashes over you, moaning his name loudly as you cum on your fingers. after a few minutes, he sends a voice message back “you sound so fucking good… shit, look what you’ve done t-to me… mmm… fuck, fuck, fuck… i’m gonna cum thinking about fucking you, baby. i’m gonna cum thinking about you making those… s-sounds while i fucking pound into you.”

the next few days are a blur. he hasn’t texted, and you haven’t either. but no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about what happened. no matter how hard you try to shake it off, it’s there. his voice, the way he sounded saying your name, the damn nudes, the way your heart raced as you typed those things to him.

you don’t know how to feel about it. on one hand, you can’t deny how much you wanted it in the moment. but now? now you’re not sure. did you cross a line? did he? part of you regrets it, wishes you could just rewind and stop yourself before things spiraled. but another part—one you’re trying to ignore—remembers how good it felt, how right it seemed in the moment.

and then there’s the friendship. years of it. he’s been your best friend for a few years now. he knows things about you no one else does and he’s seen you at your absolute worst. like that night you showed up at his door after a horrible breakup. mascara streaked down your cheeks, and he didn’t say a word—just handed you a blanket, put on your favorite movie, and sat there with you until you fell asleep on his shoulder.

but it wasn’t always serious. like the time he tried rapping one of his freestyles for you, all cocky, and you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe. or like the time you tripped over absolutely nothing at the mall, and he laughed so hard he cried, then spent weeks reenacting it whenever you were around. or when he clogged your toilet and tried to fix it himself instead of just telling you. or when he picked a fight with some guy at a club because the guy bumped into you and didn’t apologize. he got all puffed up and said, “you got a problem, man?” like he was some kind of action movie hero. but the guy was huge, like, rugby player huge, and before you could drag subong away, he swung and missed, and the dude took him down in one hit. he spent the rest of the night with a bloody nose and ice pressed to his face, grumbling, “he got lucky.” you still remind him of how he ‘lost a fight in one punch,’ and it always makes him groan.

you’ve got a thousand stupid inside jokes that no one else would understand, like how you always text each other ‘don’t die’ instead of ‘goodnight’ because of some dumb horror movie you watched together. or the fact that he nicknamed you ‘señorita’ when you said you wanted to visit spain one day.

he’s a walking disaster, an endless source of secondhand embarrassment, and somehow, that’s what makes subong… subong. being around him has always felt easy, like slipping into your favorite hoodie—comfortable, familiar, safe.

but friends don’t do… that. what if it’s never the same again? you’ve always been comfortable with him, never overthinking what you said or did around him. now, you can’t imagine looking him in the eye without thinking about what you two did together. you keep telling yourself that things will go back to normal, but deep down, you’re scared they won’t. because you’re not sure you can go back—not after knowing what it felt like to be wanted by him in that way. not after letting yourself want him back.

one day, out of the blue, he texts you like nothing happened. just casually, like you didn't have your hand between your thighs while listening to him moan your name a few nights ago.

yoooo, wanna hop on call and play videogames? i’m bored

at first, you stare at the text, because... what does this mean? is this his way of brushing it under the rug? of pretending nothing ever happened? still, you say yes. because what else can you do? you hop into the call, and there he is—joking, laughing, completely normal. like the two of you didn't cross every possible line. he's so good at acting like nothing's changed, it almost convinces you. you match his energy, responding with the same casual ease. maybe this is fine. maybe you're fine.

then the group chat lights up a few days later: a cinema meet-up. everyone's throwing out ideas for what movie to watch, talking about snacks, debating over showtimes. he's there, throwing in jokes about popcorn sizes and his infamous sweet tooth, and you're sitting there trying to decide if you can handle seeing him face to face. you hesitate, debating if you should just make up an excuse not to go. but then he replies to the chat, tagging you specifically.

u better be there señorita

i will🙃

the day arrives faster than you’d like, and before you know it, you’re standing outside the cinema, stomach flipping as you spot namgyu, minsu, gyeongsu, and semi waving at you. you force a smile and walk over, doing your best to focus on their chatter and ignore the nerves crawling up your spine. but then you see him—subong, leaning against the wall, vape in hand. and when his eyes land on you, he smirks. he knows damn well. he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s not going to make this easy for you. “finally,” he says when you’re close enough. “i was starting to doubt you’d come.” “why wouldn’t i?” you reply. he shrugs, taking a puff from his vape “thought you might’ve had better things to do.” the way he says it feels loaded, but he doesn’t give you time to respond, turning his attention to namgyu instead.

when it’s time to head into the cinema, you try to position yourself far from him, making a beeline for a seat between minsu and semi. you settle in, thinking you’re safe, but of course, subong has other plans. “yo, minsu, my boy,” he says as he walks down the aisle, stopping directly in front of you. “mind scooting over? i’ll sit here.” “uh, sure,” minsu says, shifting down without hesitation. you open your mouth to object, but before you can say anything, subong is sliding into the seat next to you, drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “hope you don’t mind,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer than necessary. you grit your teeth, keeping your gaze locked on the screen as the previews start. “not at all,” you mutter under your breath.

you think that’s it. but, of course, it doesn’t end there. he shifts in his seat, his arm brushing against yours every now and then, like he’s waiting for you to react. you swear you catch him smirking out of the corner of your eye multiple times. you try to focus on the movie, but it’s impossible when his presence is so loud. every little movement, every tiny glance, has your nerves on edge. and he knows it.

then, you feel it. his hand—light at first— rests on your bare thigh, the heat of his palm sending a jolt through you. you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. what the hell is he doing? his fingers trace a soft line along your skin, caressing just above your knee. you stay still, unsure of what to do, but your body betrays you, not pulling away.

his touch grows bolder, creeping higher up your leg, slipping under your skirt. you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. he's still watching the movie, acting like nothing is happening, like his hand isn't inches away from your clothed pussy. “what are you doing?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns his head toward you, looking innocent, like he's just minding his own business. “nothing.” “subong—” “i'll stop if you want me to.” you don't answer, torn between wanting to push him away and not wanting him to stop at all. “do you want me to stop? be honest,” he says, still waiting for your response. “no,” you reply, looking away with embarrassment. he chuckles softly—hand rubbing the inside of your thigh.

you drape the thin jacket you brought over your legs, a flimsy attempt to shield his hand from semi’s view. every nerve in your body screams that you shouldn’t be letting this happen, but you don’t stop him. he spreads your legs with his hand for better access, and soon you feel two of his fingers pressing against your clit over the fabric of your panties. your breath hitches, and you try not to move—not even a sound escapes you—but your lips part at the feeling of his touch. he moves them slow—too slow—in a way that has you shifting against him, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. and he gives it to you. his hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and a low chuckle leaves him when he feels just how wet you are.

subong knows what he is doing. he rubs your clit in circles, gently but with enough pressure to have you biting your bottom lip. and god, his fingers feel so much better than you ever imagined. when he quickens the pace, a soft moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, pretending to be focused on the screen. but the rapid rise and fall of your chest betrays your so-called calm. before you can collect yourself, semi leans in. “are you okay?” “mhm,” you nod quickly, forcing a smile. “yeah, don't worry, i—” your words falter when his fingers move faster. you bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but he's clearly enjoying watching you struggle. “i-i'm fine,” you manage to stutter. semi raises an eyebrow. “you sure?” “yeah,” you nod. “alright,” semi says before shrugging and turning her attention back to the screen.

you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you. your head snaps toward subong, eyes narrowing in a glare that’s meant to convey exactly how ridiculous he’s being right now. you dig your nails into his wrist, “are you crazy?” but he only pauses for a second, leaning in close enough to whisper, “relax, girl. no one noticed.” the audacity of him sends heat rushing to your face. but he doesn’t back down, his fingers resuming their slow, torturous movements. and just as you’re about to reach your orgasm… he stops. your body jerks in frustration, and you whip your head toward him, confused. his smirk only deepens as he pulls his hand from under your skirt, bringing his fingers to his lips and licking them clean. “what the fuck?” you whisper, a soft groan escaping at the loss of his touch. “what?” he whispers back, feigning innocence. “you know what.” “i don't. you'll have to spell it out for me.” “subong—” “tell me what you want.” the frustration wells up in your chest. to him, this is probably hilarious—you being so desperate. but for you? it's humiliating. pathetic. begging your best friend for something like this. still, the need outweighs your pride. you lean in, your lips almost brushing his ear, “i wanna... i wanna cum. please, make me cum.” “yeah? be fucking quiet, then.”

his fingers slip back under your skirt. your breath catches, and you press your lips together, your body already trembling from how close you were before—gripping the armrest, barely able to keep still. every nerve in your body feels like it's on fire, and when his fingers circle just right, you're done. the release hits hard, and you muffle your moans by biting down on your lip so hard it stings.

the days after are... strange. again. no texting, no acknowledgment, no teasing, nothing. it's like it never happened. and when he does text again, it's so casual it throws you off. he sends a random picture, a meme he has found on instagram.

this shit is so funny bro loooololol

i fear your humor is broken😐

naahhh u just don’t get ittt babyy

you reply like everything's fine because, well, isn't it? you don’t even know at this point.

another day, he messages the group chat:

pentagon this weekend?🔥

the replies come fast. namgyu’s working that night. semi has plans with her girlfriend. gyeongsu says he’s too exhausted for it. minsu doesn’t even reply. everyone has an excuse, and eventually, the chat goes dead. then, a private message from subong popps up.

wbu? still down to go?

you and subong had gone clubbing together hundreds of times. hell, most nights it was just the two of you, dancing until your legs gave out, taking blurry selfies, and laughing over cheap drinks. it was normal. so, you type:

yeah, sureee

bet. see u saturday, señorita

when the night comes, your phone buzzes as you’re double-checking your look in the mirror.

outside

outsideeee

outsideeeeeeeee

hellooooooooooooooooooo

one minute, let me grab my jacket

i’m freezing man

one minute my ass

patience is a virtue ❤️

cmooooooooon

u knitting the jacket or what

girl i just hit retirement age waiting for u

you’re so dramatic

and u r so slow, balance baby

you grab your jacket and head out, the bass from his car already thudding through the air when you step outside. you see him leaning against the passenger door, dressed in his usual baggy style—a loose graphic tee, cargo pants, and sneakers that probably cost more than your entire outfit (the only damn thing he saves up for…)—vape dangling lazily from his fingers. when he sees you, his eyes trail over you for a second too long. “you’re overdressed,” he teases with a smile. “you’re underdressed,” you shoot back.

the drive to club pentagon is easy, filled with a mix of rap tracks and subong’s singing. when you finally pull up, the line’s already stretching down the block, but subong doesn’t even blink. “namgyu’s working, right?” he asks, sliding out of the car. you nod. “yeah, he’ll let us in.” inside, the music is already pulsing, bass heavy enough to shake the floors. subong grabs your wrist. “drinks first?” “obviously,” you answer. you follow subong to the bar, the pounding music buzzing in your ears. “what are we starting with?” he asks, leaning against the bar. “shots,” you say, already reaching into your bag. he raises an eyebrow. “you’re paying?” “you’re broke,” you remind him, rolling your eyes before ordering four shots of tequila. when the glasses arrive, he grabs two and hands you one. “guess i’ll owe you,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “you already do,” you reply, downing the first shot without hesitation. the familiar burn of tequila trails down your throat, and you chase it with a quick breath.

you can feel his eyes on you as you throw back the second shot. you don’t meet his gaze, but you can feel it—the weight of it, the way it makes your stomach flutter. shaking it off, you slam your glass on the counter and signal for one more round. “last one,” you say, mostly to yourself, pulling out more cash. he doesn’t argue, just picks up his shot, watching you as you pick up yours. you both toss back the final shot, and the alcohol is just enough to loosen the knot in your chest. but the way his gaze lingers as he sets his glass down makes it tighten again. “dancing?” you ask. he nods. you push through the crowd till you find a spot on the dance floor. the techno track thuds through your chest as you sway to the rhythm. subong moves with you, not particularly in sync with the beat, but in his own way that somehow works. every now and then, his eyes catch yours, and you have to force yourself to look away.

the music builds, and you let yourself get lost in it, the alcohol buzzing through your veins and the tension from earlier slowly dissolving into the haze of the moment. after a while, he stops moving and pulls his phone from his pocket. you glance at him, curious, as he squints at the screen. whatever he sees makes him smile faintly before he shoves the phone back into his pocket. “i need to hit the bathroom!” he says, leaning close so you can hear. you blink at him, confused. “right now?” he nods, gesturing for you to follow. you don’t argue—it’s not exactly safe to hang around the dance floor by yourself. reluctantly, you let him lead you off the floor.

he disappears into the men’s room, leaving you standing against the wall, arms crossed. you tap your foot, watching drunk strangers stumble past. a few minutes later, the door swings open, and subong walks out, a small smirk playing on his lips. “what took you so long?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him. instead of answering, he holds up a small plastic bag between his fingers. your stomach flips when you see the little colorful pills inside. “what the hell is that?” you ask, but you already know. he grins, tilting his head. “new stuff.” your brows furrow. “what?” “my plug got these,” he says, holding up the bag slightly. “said they hit different. figured i’d try.” he slides one pill between his fingers, studying it like it’s no big deal. then he brings it to his mouth, about to toss it back. “wait,” you say, grabbing his wrist. he scoffs. “what? you want it instead?” you glare at him. “no, subong. what are you even doing? you don’t need that!” he rolls his eyes, freeing his wrist from your grip. “come on, it’s nothing. we’ve had worse.” “worse?” you scoff. “you’re really gonna compare getting blackout drunk and smoking pot to this?” “you’re fucking overthinking it. it’s just one pill. just tonight. trust me.” he says.

you glance at the bag again, at the little pills that seem so harmless yet scream bad idea. “subong…” you start, but your voice trails off. “look,” he cuts in, his voice softer now. “we’re having a good fucking time, yeah? it’ll be just this once, okay? i promise.” “okay,” you say suddenly, lifting your chin. “but if you do one, i’ll do one.” his smirk falters for half a second. “no.” you frown. “what do you mean, no?” “i mean no. you’re not taking one.” “but you can?” you challenge, crossing your arms.“yeah.” you scoff. “that’s bullshit.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “this isn’t your thing, señorita.” “since when it’s yours?” you snap. “if you’re gonna do it, then so am i.”

he looks at you, really looks at you. then, with an exasperated groan, he reaches into the bag. “fucking stubborn,” he mutters, pulling out another pill. “just this once.” he holds it delicately between his fingers before stepping closer. “open up,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. you hesitate for a second but eventually part your lips, sticking out your tongue. he places the pill gently on it. “there you go,” he says, stepping back and popping his own pill. you swallow it quickly, trying not to think about what you’ve just decided to do.

you move back onto the dance floor, the pill's effects creeping in like a warm wave washing over you. the flashing lights seem brighter now and everything blurs together—colors, sounds, the heat of the crowd—but it feels good. better than it should. your limbs feel lighter, like you're floating, and the energy buzzing inside you pushes you to move. subong is right there beside you, dancing with his hand raised, and you can't stop staring at him. his messy hair sticks to his forehead, sweat glistening on his tanned skin.

before you know it, your arms are around his neck, pulling him in like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. his eyes burn into yours for half a second, like he’s daring you to close the distance. then his hands are on your waist, rough fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and he drags you closer until you’re pressed against him. the music is pounding, but it feels distant—like the only rhythm you can hear now is the way your bodies move together, hips rolling in time, every brush of his skin against yours making you burn.

his breath fans across your lips, hot and tasting of tequila and something bitter—maybe the pill he took earlier—and it makes your head spin. then your mouth crashes into his. there’s nothing soft about it. it’s messy and sloppy, urgent—like you’re both too far gone to think about anything but this. his lips part against yours immediately, and your tongues meet in a dizzying clash of heat and need. his hands slide up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth.

you tilt your head, chasing the kiss even deeper. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth against your bottom lip, a bite that makes you whimper before he soothes it with his tongue. the sound you make pushes him further—he groans into your mouth, his other hand gripping your jaw, tilting your face exactly how he wants it.

you’re not sure where the desperation is coming from, but it feels like if he stops touching you, you’ll shatter. your fingers clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric as you grind just a little closer, a little harder. he’s breathing just as heavy as you are, lips red and swollen from kissing you like he never wants to stop.

you’ve kissed people before but nothing’s ever felt like this. nothing’s ever felt this fucking good. the two of you stumble out of the club. your legs feel like jelly as you hold onto subong, and his arm wraps around your waist to steady you. his car is parked a few streets over, tucked away in a dark, hidden corner under some trees. “thank god for this spot,” he mutters as he unlocks the doors.

you barely make it into the backseat before he’s on you again—his lips crashing into yours like he’s been waiting for this forever. his hands are all over you, rough and desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. but you’re not going anywhere. his fingers dig into your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, and the second you straddle him, you feel it—hard and thick, pressing right against the heat between your legs. a soft gasp slips out of you, but he swallows it with another kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. fuck, he’s good.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling as your hips start to move, grinding down on him. his grip tightens immediately, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he guides your movements, rocking you against him harder. the friction creates a delicious, aching pressure that makes you whimper against his lips. “fuck,” he breathes, breaking the kiss just long enough to let his head fall back against the seat. his fingers squeeze your ass, dragging you down against him rougher. “keep doing that.” so you do. you roll your hips, slow at first, letting yourself feel everything. you’re already soaked, already throbbing for more, and from the way his hands are gripping you, the way his breathing is getting heavier, you know he feels it too. “i need to eat you out,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck. “want you to cum on my tongue.” you do exactly what he wants—legs spread wide, thighs trembling as his head dips between them. his breath is hot against your soaked pussy, teasing, before his tongue finally makes contact—slow at first, a long, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit that makes your whole body jolt.

you gasp at the feeling, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard, but it only makes him groan against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure straight through you. he doesn’t hold back. he devours you, eating you out like a man starved, his tongue flicking against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth. and when two of his fingers slip inside you, curling deep, pressing against that perfect spot, you swear you see stars. “you taste so fucking good,” he groans against you, his lips slick with your arousal before he flattens his tongue and laps up every drop. the way he’s working you—his mouth, his fingers, the filthy sounds coming from between your legs—it’s too much, too good, and your whole body is trembling, hips rolling against his face, chasing more. “shit—subong!” your voice breaks as the pleasure crashes over you all at once. your thighs clamp around his head, your body arching off the seat as you cum hard against his mouth. but he doesn’t stop—his tongue keeps moving, drinking you in, dragging out your release until you’re shaking.

when he comes back up to kiss you—chin shining with the evidence of your release— your hand instinctively moves to rub him through his pants, the hard outline of his dick impossible to miss. he hisses at the contact, his hips bucking eagerly against your touch. “you got a condom?” you ask. he pauses. “yeah, hold on.” reluctantly, he pulls away and starts patting his pockets. his brows furrow in concentration as he checks one side, then the other. finally, with a relieved grin, he pulls a condom out and holds it up. “got it,” he says before kissing the wrapper, making you chuckle.

he looks so fucking hot as he rolls the condom onto his cock, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. but nothing gets him off more than watching you climb back onto his lap, your soaked folds teasing the head of his dick as you line yourself up. his breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs, barely holding himself back. “fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice tight with restraint. then, slowly you sink down onto him. inch by inch, he stretches you open, filling you up until there’s no space left between your bodies. “shit,” he hisses, watching as your slick coats him, making every movement easy, effortless—like your body was made to take him. and when you start moving, lifting your hips before sliding back down, a broken moan escapes his lips. “fuck, baby,” he breathes, hands roaming up your back, gripping your ass, anything to ground himself as you ride him. “you feel so f-fucking good—look at you, taking me so… mmm… so fucking well.” his voice is needy, and when you slam down harder, his hips jerk up to meet yours, pushing even deeper. “oh my—fuck, subong!” you cry out, your walls clenching around him so tight it makes his whole body tense beneath you.

he almost fucking loses it the second he feels you clench around him, his face twisting in pleasure, jaw going slack. his hands grip your hips, guiding you—faster, rougher—eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. he forces himself to meet your gaze, even though his eyes keep threatening to roll back. “fuck, if i’d known how fucking good this pussy is… i would’ve f-fucked you sooner.” he moans as you move faster, bouncing on his cock—every thrust making obscene, slick sounds that only turn him on more. his eyes drop to your tits, bouncing perfectly in time with your movements, and fuck, he can’t decide what he wants more—to keep watching you ride him like this or to flip you over and ruin you.

but then you tighten around him, your rhythm stuttering as you throw your head back, moaning so loud he swears the whole damn neighborhood can hear you. “fuck— i’m gonna—! i-i’m gonna cum!” you cry out, your whole body trembling, thighs shaking as you cum around his cock. and that’s it. that’s all it takes to break him. “shit—ngh!” his body jerks beneath you, his abs tensing as he spills into the condom, his head falling back, mouth open.

his hands are still gripping you, holding you down against him as he rides out every last pulse of his release, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. and fuck—you’re still wrapped around him, warm and wet and perfect. you end up laughing for a solid twenty minutes after that, still too high to fully process what the fuck just happened between you two. but even in your haze, every single detail stays with you the next day.

fucking your best friend while high as fuck one night might’ve been an accident. but then it happens again. and again. and again. and you can’t call it an accident anymore.

it happens everywhere.

in his car, where the windows are always fogged up, your moans echoing in the tight space. in your apartment, where he barely gets the door shut before he’s got you pinned against it, hands rough and greedy, yanking your clothes off like he’s been waiting all fucking day for this. sometimes he doesn’t even make it past the kitchen—he just lifts you onto the counter, knocking over whatever’s in his way, too impatient to care as his mouth moves down your neck. in his bed, where the sheets are always a mess, tangled from how hard he fucks you into the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists, pinning them above your head. even in a club bathroom, right after he gives a show, still high off the energy, sweat dripping down his temple. you’re barely inside before he’s got you bent over the sink, hiking your dress up, shoving your panties to the side, fucking into you so deep you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming his name.

wherever. the second you’re alone, it’s happening. it becomes a thing. a need.

you always figured subong would fuck good. he never shut up about the girls he’s been with, the shit he’s done, bragging like he was the best lay any of them ever had. and every time he talked about it, you’d feel heat pool between your thighs, wondering if he was really that good or just full of shit.

now you knew. and fuck, he wasn’t lying.

he’s rough and passionate—the kind of lover who takes without hesitation but gives just as much, maybe even more. he loves watching you squirm, loves the way your body responds to him like it was made for this. like it needs this. his fingers trail down your skin, barely touching, making you shiver before he finally gives you what you want. and fuck, he lives for it—the way you gasp when he finally presses his mouth between your legs, the way your back arches when he fills you up, stretching you wide, making you take every inch.

some days, he drags it out, torturing you with slow touches, lazy kisses, making you beg before he finally gives in. he’ll tease you until you’re trembling, hands gripping at him desperately, “please, subong… need you so bad.” and then, maybe then, he’ll give you what you’re begging for. other days? he doesn’t bother waiting. before you can say a word, he’s got you pinned to the mattress, yanking your legs apart, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. “been thinking about this all fucking day.” then he’s inside you, fucking you like he’s been starving for it.

it’s been months now—this thing between you and subong. but you don’t talk about it. not once. there’s no late-night confessions, no whispered ‘what are we?’ between tangled sheets. he doesn’t ask who else you’re seeing, and you sure as hell don’t ask him. but the uncertainty lingers. because he’s still your best friend. you still laugh at his dumb ass jokes, roll your eyes when he’s being his cocky self, and feel that weird, warm twist in your stomach when you catch him watching you from across the room.

and yet, there are a bunch of little things that scream something more. like that time you sat on his rumpled bed while he was writing a song, and you helped him hammer out stupid-ass verses—even when he swore they’d never work. you teased him for his cheesy lines and then watched his face light up like he’d just discovered a new fucking world. hell, he even calls you his muse sometimes, and you hate how damn proud that makes you feel.

or that stormy night. the rain was lashing against the windows, and you two were locked in his tiny studio apartment. one minute you were laughing, taking silly pictures of him with a digital camera while he smoked, and the next, he had your face pressed against the wooden table as he fucked you from behind—your ass cheeks burning from his vigorous spanking. after, he pulled you close, running his fingers through your hair as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

that one night he showed up at your door at 2 a.m., high off his ass, slurring your name with that cocky grin, his knuckles tapping too fast against the wood. “couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. “fucking missed you.” you should’ve told him to fuck off, should’ve rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face because he promised he wouldn’t do that shit again. instead, you let him in, let him collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh, pulling you down with him. his arms caged you in, the scent of his cheap cologne filling your senses.

then there was the time you caught him staring at you while you were getting ready. you were fixing your hair in his mirror, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and when you turned around, he was just standing there—arms crossed. “what?” you asked, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. he just shook his head, smirking a little. “nothing,” he said. “you just—you look good in my clothes, mama.”

and when you called him crying after a shitty day at work, voice shaking so bad he could barely understand you. you didn’t even have to ask—he just showed up, no questions. drove way too fucking fast to get to you, and pulled you into his chest so tight it felt like he was trying to hold you together. “who do i need to punch?” he asked, half-joking, half-dead serious. and you laughed, even through your tears, because that was him—always trying to make you smile. he let you cry into his hoodie, let you hold onto him like a fucking lifeline, and then, when you finally calmed down, he kissed your forehead like it was second nature. “you’re okay, baby” he murmured. “i got you.” he always had you.

or the night he took you to some shitty underground concert, knowing damn well you didn’t even like the band. “it’s not about the music,” he told you, grinning like an idiot. “it’s about the experience.” you rolled your eyes, but you still let him pull you into the crowd, still let him wrap an arm around you when the pit got too wild, still let him hold your hand. afterward, sweaty and breathless, you sat on the curb outside, sharing a cigarette while he rambled about how sick the show was. “you should play up there one day,” you told him, nudging his shoulder. “your songs have gotten better.” “you think?” “yeah. you’re good, bong-bong.” the nickname made him laugh. a week later, he showed you something he wrote. something raw and messy and fucking beautiful. he let you hear a part of him no one else ever did.

you even helped him rebrand himself. it started with him pacing his room, muttering to himself, stopping every few seconds like he was about to say something, then changing his mind. eventually, you sighed, rolling onto your stomach while watching him from his bed. “are you having a breakdown or just being dramatic?” he ignored you, still pacing. and then, out of nowhere, he stopped. snapped his fingers. looked at you like he just discovered the secret to life itself. “i’m gonna dye my hair purple.” you stared at him for a long second, waiting for him to laugh or tell you he was joking. but he just stood there, completely serious, shoulders squared like he was about to go to war.

within twenty minutes, you were in his bathroom, gloves on, a box of purple dye sitting between you. you didn’t even ask how he got it so fast. knowing him, he’d probably been sitting on this idea for weeks, just waiting for the right moment to drag you into it. he sat on the closed toilet lid, legs spread, while you stood over him, parting his hair and working the dye through. up close, he looked smug as hell, like he knew he was onto something. the whole rap game was about standing out, and he was done waiting for people to notice him.

the name ‘thanos’ caught on faster than you expected. at first, it was a joke—you called him that to be annoying, and then he used it in a song, and suddenly, people were saying it back to him. dms started piling up. more people started listening. before you knew it, subong wasn’t just some guy making music in his bedroom—he was thanos. and, of course, he acted like he knew it was gonna work all along.

and fuck, the time he brought you home to meet his family. his mom fussed over you like you were the perfect daughter-in-law, laying on your favorite dish and insisting you have seconds. then, saying, “he talks about you a lot”, making subong choke on his food while his sister goaded him about how he treats you like his damn girlfriend. you felt so out-of-place and yet so damn loved by the way he proudly introduced you to everyone, as if you were the missing piece in his fucked-up puzzle. he even opened up to you about his dad—how he never gave a shit about him, never looked at him unless it was to point out everything he did wrong. maybe that was why he kept stealing glances at you like he was trying to make sense of it—of being wanted, of being next to someone who actually cared.

and later that night, when you were both lying on his couch, full and sleepy, he nudged your knee with his. “thanks for coming, señorita,” he mumbled, eyes half-lidded. “they liked you.” you turned your head to look at him, saying, “of course they did. i’m fucking amazing.” he smirked, but it faded quick, his gaze lingering on you a little too long. “yeah,” he murmured. “you are.”

nights that weren’t about sex at all. the ones where he just wanted you close, his hands resting on your back, his lips pressed to your shoulder, his voice low and sleepy in the dark. “you’re warm,” he’d mumble, pulling you closer. “don’t leave.” “i work tomorrow, baby,” you’d say. “i’ll drive you… stay with me,” he’d always replied.

and you did. every single time.

and there were the nights he fucked you like he meant it. not just like you were some girl he was hooking up with, but like you were the only one who had ever mattered. like he was trying to prove something with every touch, every kiss, every time he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours and whispered your name like a prayer.

like he loved you. but he never said it. and neither did you.

so instead, you settled for the quiet moments—for the way he always pulled you into his lap at parties, his hands resting lazily on your thighs; for the way he let you pick the music when you drove anywhere, even though he always bitched about your taste; for the way he let you steal his fries, let you doodle on his lyrics notebook, let you wear his hoodies even when you didn’t ask; for the way he texted you ‘good morning, baby❤️,’ and it made you smile for no damn reason; for the way you woke up to find him still asleep beside you, hair a damn mess on the pillow, and traced lazy circles on his chest while he mumbled some half-remembered melody. for the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

you can’t help but hope that one day you’ll both just say the damn words and finally admit that all these little moments mean something. you hope that maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll stop wondering if you’re more than just friends with benefits.

are u busy?

no, why?

good, i’ll be there in 10

i’m on my period

who gives a shitttt, i sure as hell don’t, mama

subong.

yeah?🙏🏼

not in the mood❤️

oh

alr cool👍🏼💯

can i still come over tho? we could watch a movie or something

yeah okayyy, bring snacks (or else i won’t let you in)

i’m the only snack u need, girl

you don’t expect him to show up with anything, but when you open the door, subong’s standing there, hands full—one holding a plastic bag, the other gripping a bottle of soda. “what’s all this?” you ask, raising a brow. he steps inside without waiting for an invite, kicking off his shoes. “you said ‘bring snacks’, didn’t you?” he says, dropping the bag onto your coffee table. “figured you’d want something sweet.” you peek inside—chocolate bars, a pack of strawberry pocky, even a container of sliced fruit. your chest tightens at the thought of him actually remembering the little things you like.“what, no painkillers?” you tease, flopping onto the couch. he scoffs, collapsing next to you, way too comfortable in your space. “what do i look like, a pharmacy?”

you give him a knowing look, and his lips twitch, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. grabbing the remote, you ask, “so, what are we watching?” “something i won’t fall asleep to,” he says, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “which means no boring indie shit.” you nudge his thigh with your foot. “first of all, my movie taste is elite. second, if you fall asleep, i’m taking pictures.” he grins, lazy and cocky. “yeah? what will you use them for?” heat rushes to your face, and you smack his arm without thinking. “shut up.”

the movie plays, and for a while, it’s normal. easy. you snack on the pocky while subong steals pieces of fruit from the container, acting like he’s doing you a favor by eating the ones you don’t like. he stretches out on the couch, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. goddamn.

it's barely been a few minutes when you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch, his strong hand fisting in your hair as you hungrily suck his dick like your life depends on it. you couldn’t help it. he just looked too fucking good. you take him deep, your nose pressing against his abs, gagging slightly but refusing to back off. he lets out a groan as you take him, the head of his dick hitting the back of your throat. His hand tightens in your hair, guiding your head up and down. “fuck, just like that baby... show me how much you love this dick.” his hips thrust forward, making you gag slightly. “you're so f-fucking good for me... mmm such a pretty little mouth, choking on my cock.”

drool slips down your chin as you struggle to breathe but maintain eye contact, wanting him to see how much you love taking him in your mouth. the wet, obscene sounds of you slurping and gagging fill the room. he watches you intently, pupils blown wide with lust, his dick throbbing against your tongue. moaning around him, the vibrations make his thighs quake. "shit... you’re gonna make me fucking c-cum," he breathes out. “you gonna… you gonna let me cum in that s-sweet mouth of yours, hm?” “mhmm,” you purr around his length, looking up at him with hooded eyes. you double your efforts, sucking him hard and fast, your hand pumping what you can’t reach. he holds your head in place as he comes, making you to swallow every last drop. you take a moment to catch your breath, wiping your mouth before sitting back up.

the bathroom lights hum to life as you rinse your mouth and splash cool water on your face, trying to shake off the heat thrumming through you. you press your palms against the sink, inhaling deep in an attempt to look less flustered. the movie’s still on when you come back. you get comfortable, leaning into subong just slightly. he doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm and lets you settle in against his side. the warmth of him seeps into you, and you rest your head on his shoulder. subong smiles at you before kissing your forehead, something that shouldn’t mean anything but somehow does.

you shift slightly, but he just pulls you in closer, his body solid and warm against yours. your heart stutters in your chest, and the thought of what you are—what you actually mean to him—becomes impossible to ignore. the longer you sit there, the harder it is to pretend this is normal. your heart is beating too fast, your mind racing with thoughts you’ve been shoving down for months. finally, you tilt your head to glance up. “subong,” you start, your voice quieter than you mean it to be. he hums, eyes still on the screen, but you can tell he’s listening. you swallow, suddenly nervous. “what… what are we doing?” that gets his attention. “what do you mean?” you sit up a little, putting some space between you—enough to see him clearly. “this. us. it’s been months, and we’ve never talked about it.” “what’s there to talk?” “i mean, is this just sex to you?”

he doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tenses, his eyes flicking away for a second like he’s weighing his words. “does it feel like just sex to you?” he finally asks. your chest tightens. “no.” his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. like maybe he’s been trying to convince himself of something different. “right. it’s not just sex, we’re friends, too,” he says. “then why are we acting like this?” you push. he rubs a hand over his face. “i don’t know.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees. the silence stretches thick between you, but you refuse to let it suffocate you. you need to know. “what do you want this to be?”

subong exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair. he looks frustrated, like he doesn’t even want to have this conversation. like you’re ruining something by asking. “why do we have to call it something?” he says finally, and your stomach twists. you blink, sitting up a little. “because it’s been months, subong. because we’re not—we’re not just fucking and then going our separate ways. because we’re sitting here, cuddling, watching a damn movie, and it feels like more.” his jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around his knee. “it doesn’t have to mean anything.” that stings. worse than you were expecting. you swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “it does to me.” his face twists, like he hates hearing that. “shit, don’t fucking do this,” he mutters, shaking his head. “why can’t we just keep things the way they are?” “because i’m tired of pretending this is casual when it’s not,” you snap, your voice cracking. “not for me, at least.”

he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, like he’s trying to hold something back. when he looks at you again, his expression is unreadable, but his next words hit like a punch to the gut. “then maybe you shouldn’t have let it get this fucking far.” you feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. “what?” “i never promised you shit.” the words cut deep, sharper than anything he’s ever said to you before. you open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. because he’s right. he never did. but the way he touched you, the way he held you after—none of that felt like nothing. you shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your voice steady. “are you fucking kidding me?”

he hesitates for a second too long. and that’s all you need to know. you force yourself to nod, pressing your lips together. “okay.” his brows furrow, like he wasn’t expecting you to take it like that, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything else. you grab the remote, press stop on the movie, and push yourself off the couch. “you should go.” “are you fucking serious?” you cross your arms over your chest, fighting to keep your composure. “yeah, i’m serious. get the fuck out.” “we have one fucking shitty conversation, and now you don’t want me here?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “what the fuck do you want from me, subong?” your voice shakes, and you can feel it crack, but you force it out. “sit here and pretend like i didn’t just fucking tell you how i feel? pretend i’m not fucking hurt because you—” you stop yourself, biting your lip so hard it almost bleeds. his jaw clenches. “what?” you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “because you don’t fucking care.” “i never said i don’t care.” “you might as well have,” you snap, voice breaking with frustration. “you just don’t give a shit enough to do anything about it.” he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, breathing hard through his nose. “just because i care doesn’t mean we have to slap a fucking label on it!” “and i just have to be okay with that?!” you snap, your voice rising. “i have to sit here like a dumbass and pretend this is fine when it’s not?”

he throws his hands up, his face twisting in frustration. “for fuck’s sake, why do you have to make everything so fucking difficult?” “difficult?!” you let out a humorless laugh. “you’re the one acting like a fucking idiot, subong! you want to fuck me, cuddle me, act like i’m your fucking girlfriend, but the second i ask you to be honest about what this is, suddenly i’m the problem?! you even introduced me to your damn family!” he freezes for half a second when the words leave your mouth, then he stands up, jabbing a finger in your face. “what the fuck did you just call me?!” you swat his hand away, your glare burning into him. “don’t fucking point at me like that!” his jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare like he’s barely keeping himself from snapping. “you wanna talk about being a fucking idiot?! look in the fucking mirror!” he spits. “you’re the one acting like some needy little bitch because i won’t say what you wanna hear.” “fuck you, subong!” you don’t say anything else. you just turn on your heel and walk out of the living room, heading straight for the kitchen. your hands are shaking, your chest tight, and you just need to put some distance between you and him before you completely fall apart. behind you, you hear him scoff. “seriously? you’re just gonna walk away mid-fucking-conversation?”

you grip the edge of the counter, squeezing your eyes shut. maybe if you stay quiet, he’ll take the fucking hint and leave. but of course, he doesn’t. you hear his footsteps as he follows you in. “you always do this shit,” he mutters, his voice dripping with irritation. “running off the second things don’t go your way.” you whirl around, your eyes burning. “what should i do, then? hm? get on my knees and suck your fucking dick again?!” he clenches his fists at his sides, his mouth opening like he’s about to argue—but then he hesitates. because the truth is, you do mean something to him. he just doesn’t know how to fucking deal with it. subong has never done this before—never been in something that wasn’t just fucking around, never had to deal with real feelings, real expectations. and the idea of fucking it up? it scares the shit out of him. but instead of admitting that, instead of being honest for once in his life, he just does what he does best—pushes, lashes out. it seems easier than dealing with what he feels when he’s around you.

“why do you care so fucking much about not calling it something?” you ask, your voice softer now. “if we’re not seeing other people, if we’re always together, if you do care about me, then why?” his throat bobs as he swallows hard. and then—because he’s a fucking coward—he lies. “who says i’m not seeing other people?” you freeze. his face is unreadable, but you can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he already regrets saying it. “you’re lying.” your voice is quiet. he just shrugs, “i’ve been seeing this girl.” “who?” you raise your voice, taking a step closer as tears start falling down your face. “who?!” “i’m not fucking telling you!” “are you serious?! aren’t we supposed to be friends too?! we used to tell each other everything!”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a second—just a second—something flashes in them. something like guilt. but then he shuts it down, scoffing as he shakes his head. you continue, “but we’re not even friends anymore, are we?” “don’t say that.” “why not? it’s true, isn’t it? friends don’t do what we do,” you wipe at your face, even though the tears won’t stop fucking falling. he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, pressing it against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying to hold something back. but then he just shrugs again, voice flat. “guess we’re not fucking friends either, then.”

your vision blurs as you cry, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. “get the fuck out, subong.” your voice breaks on the last word, and you hate how fucking weak you sound, how pathetic. and the second the first real sob rips out of your throat, something in him shifts. “fuck. no, i—” he exhales, raking a hand through his hair, his voice softer now, like he’s realizing he went too far. “i didn’t mean it. i’m sorry—i’m sorry, baby.” “don’t fucking call me that!” “you gotta listen to me!” you shake your head, taking a step back, your whole body trembling. “no. i’m done listening to your fucking bullshit.” “baby, please.” his voice cracks, and his hands reach for you—hesitant, like he doesn’t know if you’ll let him touch you. “please.” you slap them away instantly. “don’t fucking touch me.” “you’re really just gonna shut me out like this?!” “you shut me out first!” “i fucking care about you!” “not enough!” his breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he just stares at you. “you’re being fucking dramatic.” “get the fuck out of my house, subong.” “why are you being such a fucking—” “say it.” your voice is a challenge, daring him to go there. he doesn’t hesitate. “bitch. a fucking bitch. you—you’re acting like a bitch.”

you’ve had enough. without thinking, you shove him—hard. he stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but you don't stop. you shove him again, your palms flat against his chest. “you’re a fucking asshole! fuck you! get out! get the fuck out!” his jaw tightens, like he wants to argue, like he wants to throw something else back at you, but you're already stepping forward again, grabbing his arm and shoving him toward the front door. subong wrenches his arm away, but you don't let it stop you. you push him again, shoving him past the threshold. but he’s not moving, so you grab the nearest thing—his damn sneakers—and chuck them at him, one after the other. the first one bounces off his chest, the second one catches him square in the shoulder. “what the fuck, man?!” subong barks, flinching back, his face twisting in irritation. he barely catches the second shoe before it can hit the ground. “you’re a crazy bitch!”

“fuck off!” your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. you’re already stepping forward, already reaching for the door—and you slam it in his face. the sound echoing through the room. for a moment, silence. a long, awful pause where your breath hitches, where your chest tightens so much it feels like you’re suffocating. then—“open the door. c’mon, open—open the fucking door!” he slams his fist against the wood. “stop being so fucking childish!” “you’re calling me childish?! grow up, subong! you’re twenty six, you don’t know what you want and you still dress like a fucking kid!” he bangs the door. “you’re one to talk, girl! always dressed like a damn slut!”

you squeeze your eyes shut and stumble to your room until your knees hit the bed, and then you’re collapsing onto it. the first sob breaks out of you before you can stop it, and then another, and another. you curl into yourself, pulling the blanket over your head, pressing your hands against your ears. but it doesn’t block him out. “fucking talk to me!” another bang. you hear the doorknob rattle. “baby, please! i’m sorry, okay?! c’mon, don’t do this! we’re fucking friends!” your voice is muffled when it finally comes, thick with tears, but loud enough for him to hear you. “go away!” “not fucking happening! open the damn door!” “go away or i’m calling the fucking cops, motherfucker!” that seems to work. you curl tighter, press your face into the pillow, and sob until the sound of his fists against the door fades away. he did this. he made you feel this way. and he fucking hates himself for it. but it’s too late.

the next few days are absolute shit. you barely leave your bed at first. your body feels too heavy, your chest too tight, your eyes too sore from crying. when you do finally move, it’s only to go through the motions—brushing your teeth, pulling on the same oversized hoodie, forcing down a few bites of food even when everything tastes like nothing, and going to work. you don’t check your phone at first. you can’t. but eventually, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who it is. subong. you let it ring. he calls again. and again. when it finally stops, the texts start.

pick up the fucking phone

cmon baby please

i fucking miss u

don’t do this shit to me

u make me so fucking angry

bro istfg

please

you turn the phone face down. but he doesn’t stop. every time you glance at your screen, his name is there.

i know u r reading these

don’t fucking ignore me bro

at least tell me u r okay

minsu asked why u didn’t come with us today

just fucking answer

is it that hard?

years and years of friendship man and u throw it all away like that?

u r fucking selfish

i hope u know that

the texts keep coming. always at random times. but the worst ones come at night. one day, at 4:12 a.m., your phone buzzes against your nightstand. you try to ignore it, try to pretend you’re asleep, but something tells you to look.

im highhg as fuvckk bro

look whatu vdone to me

fukcing bittvhhh

its urA fault

i mis uu

u r myybhaby❤️❤️❤️❤️

its fucking 4am. i wake up at 6 to go to work, stfu and leave me alone

can i cone over? plewaasse

answer bitchj

fuck you, subong. i don’t want to see you again

come bsck

i loveyouy

you block him, roll over, and squeeze your eyes shut. but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when the last words he sent are still glowing behind your eyelids, burning into your brain.

blocking him should have brought peace. should have been the final step, the clean break. but it doesn’t feel like that. instead, it feels like holding your breath underwater, waiting to resurface, except there’s no hand to pull you up this time. the first few days, you keep checking your phone out of habit. unlocking it without thinking. but there’s nothing. you still reach for him in small ways—almost texting him when something funny happens, almost turning to tell him about your day. but you can’t do that. you won’t do that. so you keep yourself busy. you pick up a book, let your eyes scan the words without really absorbing them. go on long walks, let the cold air bite at your skin, hoping it shocks you out of your thoughts. start journaling, writing down everything except his name, except the way your chest still feels hollow. you even try new things—take a yoga class with a friend, bake cookies at 2 a.m., cut your hair just to feel something different. but memories of him are stitched into the fabric of your life.

you hear his voice on the radio sometimes now, when they play a song of his that went viral. see him in the reflection of dark car windows, like he’s just a step behind you. hear a joke and immediately think about how he’d laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the edges. you tell yourself that eventually, you’ll forget. but some nights, you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he’s staring at his too. if he’s thinking about you. and the ache doesn’t go away.

your phone rings one night, when you’re already in bed. you almost don’t answer, but when you see semi’s name flash across the screen, you pick up. “hello?” your voice is groggy, tired. “hey,” semi says. “sorry, did i wake you?” “no,” you lie. “what’s up?” there’s a pause. hesitation. then, “it’s subong.” your stomach drops. “we’re worried about him.” she rushes the words out, like she’s been holding them in for too long. “he’s been acting weird lately—worse than usual.” you close your eyes, already knowing where this is going. already knowing what she’s about to say before she even says it. “he’s been taking those pills,” she continues. “the ones he used to mess with sometimes, but now he’s on them all the time. it’s like he’s not even—shit. he was out,” she says, frantic. “namgyu couldn’t wake him up at first, it was fucking bad, dude. and now he’s still high as hell, barely making sense, and he keeps—” she hesitates. you frown. “he keeps what?” “he keeps mumbling your name.” you feel like you’ve been punched in the chest. you press your fingers to your temple, trying to stop the pounding in your head. “fuck.” “he’s not okay,” she says. “he’s barely sleeping, barely eating. he looks like shit. well, he always does, but you know what i mean. and when he does talk, it’s like he’s—like he’s not there.”

you take a shaky breath. you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. he’s not your problem anymore. but your stomach still twists at the thought of him like that. “maybe you could talk to him?” semi says, hopeful. “when he feels better. i think he’d listen to you. gyeongsu is gonna take us to the hospital in a few minutes, maybe you could come too? we’ll pick you up. we’re at namgyu’s apartment, we had to take him—” “we’re not friends anymore, semi,” you cut off, swallowing down the lump in your throat. silence. “what?” she says. “what do you mean?” “he hasn’t told you?” “told us what?” “it doesn’t matter,” you say finally, letting out a heavy sigh. “i can’t help him.” “but—” “i can’t, semi.” the words come out sharper than you mean them to. she falls quiet. after a long moment, she sighs. “alright, okay,” she says, voice heavy with disappointment. “i just… i didn’t know.”

and even though you tell yourself it’s not your problem, even though you tell yourself you did the right thing—you don’t sleep that night. maybe you’re the most horrible person ever. for not helping him. that’s what you think to yourself as the days go by. you don’t go to see him. you don’t text semi back. you tell yourself that there’s nothing you could have done, that he made his choices, that you’re not responsible for saving him. but the guilt sticks to your ribs.

you keep moving forward. and then, somewhere along the way, you meet him. he’s nothing like subong. not really. but sometimes, in the way he leans back in his chair, in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, in the way he laughs when he’s had one too many drinks—he almost is. (he even likes rap!) and maybe that’s why you let him take you out. why you let him kiss you. why you let him press his hands against your skin and pretend it feels right. it doesn’t. but you let it happen anyway. because it’s easier. because when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend it’s subong. it’s fucked up. you know it’s fucked up. but you tell yourself it’s fine. that it doesn’t matter. that this is what moving on is supposed to look like. but it’s not fair. you know you shouldn’t be doing this. and when he asks what’s wrong, why you get quiet sometimes, why you look at him like you’re seeing someone else—you just smile. shake your head. press a kiss to his lips and hope he never realizes that you don’t mean it. hope he never realizes that no matter how hard you try—subong is still the only one you see.

he invites you to a show one night, says it’ll be fun. you don’t really know much about it—just that it’s some rap battle tournament called ‘rap battlegrounds’—but you’re bored, and it’s something to do. you don’t ask too many questions because, honestly, you don’t care that much. he picks you up, and you follow him through the neon-lit streets to a club you’ve never seen before, the bass already thumping from inside. he leads you through the crowd to a small corner of the club. it’s dark, gritty, with exposed brick walls and dim, flickering lights that barely cut through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. the floor is sticky. it’s the kind of place you usually avoid, but tonight, you let it slide.

you're barely paying attention, your eyes drifting over the crowd, the noise just background filler. the battles blur together, the hype not really doing anything for you. you're zoning out, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the beat, hoping this night will pass quickly—regretting all your life choices when he wraps his arm around your shoulders. when suddenly, a voice crackles through the mic, cutting through the noise. “yo, yo, yo, we got a real one up next! fresh off that new heat, straight killin’ the game—make some noise for ‘thanos’!” you freeze, snapping your head to the stage as the crowd cheers. “…and he’s goin’ up against the beast, the local legend, the one and only jace ‘the hammer!’”

there’s no way. you blink, trying to process it, but everything’s too dark, shadows everywhere, making you second-guess yourself. but then, you hear it—his voice. your stomach sinks. this is real. subong is here. for a second, you think you might pass out. he’s standing there, center stage, all cocky confidence, rapping like he owns the room. you wish you could ignore it, wish you could pretend he’s just another guy on stage, but he isn’t. and you can’t. and then it happens. his eyes sweep across the crowd, like he’s eating up the attention, and then they land on you. he freezes. just for a second—just long enough for his flow to falter, the words dying on his tongue. the beat keeps going, but he doesn’t, and the guy he’s battling jumps in, taking advantage of the opening. subong blinks, shakes his head, tries to recover—but it’s too late. he’s lost the rhythm, lost the momentum, and the battle ends with subong’s opponent eating up the win. the crowd erupts, but subong doesn’t hear any of it. he stands there for a second, chest rising and falling like he can’t believe it—like he can’t believe he actually lost. then, without another word, he shoves the mic into someone’s hand and disappears behind the stage.

someone else takes the spotlight almost immediately, the next rappers stepping up, music booming through the speakers again. you turn to the guy beside you, grabbing his wrist. “i wanna leave.” he frowns. “what? why?” you glance toward the side of the stage, your stomach twisting. subong won’t just leave it alone—you know him. “i’m just—i’m kinda tired.” the nervousness in your voice alarms him. “are you okay? what’s wrong?” “nothing. i just don’t wanna be here right now.” he studies you, and you can tell the exact moment he realizes how tense you are, how your shoulders are stiff, how you haven’t stopped glancing over your shoulder. his expression softens, just a little. “hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “it’s okay. i’ll take you home.” “yeah?” “of course.” you don’t move when he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. and it feels like… nothing. just lips on lips, a fleeting warmth that barely registers. your chest feels tight, like you need to shake something off, drown something out. so you kiss him back, harder this time, pressing in, searching for something. maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the way seeing subong on that stage messed with your head, knocked you off center. maybe you just want to prove to yourself that you can feel that rush with someone else. but you don’t. no matter how deep the kiss goes, no matter how much you try to lose yourself in it, there’s nothing there.

and just a second later, he’s ripped away from you—shoved back so hard he stumbles, nearly knocking into the bar behind him. and when you look up, you already know. subong stands there, shoulders tense, and his eyes locked on you. “what the fuck are you doing?!” “me?! what the fuck are you doing, subong?!” the guy composes himself and goes back next to you with a strained expression, one of his hands caressing his side. “what’s your problem, man?!” “who the fuck is this?” subong demands, his eyes never leaving yours. you exhale sharply. “just leave me alone.” disbelief flashes across his face like you’ve just insulted him. “nah, what the fuck is this?” he gestures vaguely between you and the guy. “this who you’re with now?” the guy straightens up. “is there a problem?” subong laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “yeah, there’s a fucking problem. who the fuck are you?” “just go, subong.” you cut in quickly. “no. i’m not fucking leaving.”

the guy beside you steps in, placing himself between you and subong. “you know this asshole?” he asks you. you sigh, “he’s… we used to be friends,” you reply. “yeah, and i’ve probably fucked her more times than you have, bro,” subong adds, a smirk on his face. “don’t listen to him,” you tell the guy before redirecting your attention to subong. “you’re being more than ridiculous right now. stop it. leave us alone.” he just stares, like he didn’t even hear you. like you didn’t just tell him to fuck off. “ridiculous?” he repeats, like the word itself it’s funny to him. “you wanna know what’s fucking ridiculous? you showing up here with—” he finally looks at the guy, eyes dragging over him like he’s barely worth acknowledging “—this.” “enough! i said… leave us alone.” “no, we need need to talk.” “she told you to leave, man.” the guy interrupts. wrong move. subong’s lips curl into something mean. “and who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he sizes him up, scoffing. the guy doesn’t back down. he squares his shoulders, keeping himself between you and subong like he actually thinks that’ll stop him. subong steps closer, just enough to invade his space. you step forward, grabbing the guy’s arm. “seriously, let’s just go—”

subong’s hand shoots out, grabbing his collar. the guy shoves him back instantly, and that’s all it takes. subong’s always been quick to anger, and now he’s pissed. “relax,” the guy says, lifting his hands like he’s trying to de-escalate, but subong’s past that. “relax? you want me to relax when you’re out here kissing my girl?” the guy exhales through his nose. “you wanna fight me over her that bad?” he shakes his head. “man, you already lost once tonight.” subong’s expression shifts in an instant. his shoulders go tense, his nostrils flare, and his jaw locks so tight you swear you can hear his teeth grind. he snaps, swinging first. it’s fast, a punch aimed straight for the guy’s jaw, but he dodges, stepping back just in time. the guy doesn’t waste time. he drives forward, ramming his shoulder into subong’s chest, sending him stumbling back. for a second, you think it might end there—but of course, it doesn’t. subong recovers quick, too quick. he surges forward, grabbing the guy’s shirt and yanking him down just to throw a knee into his ribs. the guy grunts, shoving him off, and then they’re both swinging. fists connect, curses fly, and you can barely keep up. the guy tries to hold his own, landing a few hits, but subong barely flinches. he’s fueled by something else, and he’s not stopping. one punch lands hard against the guy’s cheek, snapping his head to the side. another follows, a brutal hit to his jaw that makes him stumble. then another. and another. the guy grunts, arms coming up to shield himself, but subong doesn’t let up. he grabs the front of his shirt, yanking him forward just to slam his fist into his face again.

blood splatters. and that’s when you snap out of it. “subong, stop!” he doesn’t hear you. “subong!” he pulls back for another hit, and you move before you even think. you grab him by his shirt, using all your strength to shove him back. he stumbles, losing his grip on the guy, his eyes wild when they snap to yours. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, chest heaving. subong’s nostrils flare, hands still clenched into fists like he’s seconds away from going back for more. the guy groans, wiping blood from his face. “you broke my fucking nose, man! you’re insane!” he yells. “shut the fuck up,” subong spits, but before he can go at him again, you shove him harder. “leave him alone!” his breathing is heavy, his eyes dark, burning into yours. for a second, you think he might listen, that the fight might finally be over. but then, in one swift movement, he grabs your wrist. “what are you—” you barely get the words out before he pulls you with him, dragging you through the crowd, past the stage. “let go of me!” you struggle against his grip, but he doesn’t stop. people turn to look, but no one moves to intervene. they just watch. before you know it, you’re backstage, away from the lights, away from the eyes—trapped in a space that feels too small.

subong finally stops, shoving you back against the wall. you barely have a second to catch your breath before you’re shoving him off. “what the fuck is wrong with you?! what the fuck was all of that about?! huh?!” you slam your hands against his chest, but he barely moves. his jaw clenches, and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “what the fuck is wrong with me?! you’re really asking me that?! when you’re the one out there acting like a desperate fucking slut?!” your head jerks back, a bitter laugh ripping from your throat. “are you fucking serious right now?! you just beat the shit out of him, and you’re mad at me?! for what?! for moving the fuck on?!” “yeah, i fucking am!” he snaps. before you can react, he steps in, closing the space between you in an instant. his hands come up, slamming against the wall on either side of your head. your whole body tenses. he’s seething, breath ragged and reeking of cheap liquor and god knows what else. “why?!” “because you’re mine!” “yours?! fuck off!” you shove at him again, hard. “and take a goddamn shower while you’re at it. you smell like a fucking alleyway.”

his nostrils flare. “yeah? well, you smell like a cheap whore.” rage flares hot in your chest. “right, because you’d fucking know, wouldn’t you?” you sneer. his head tilts, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “at least i don’t pretend to have fucking standards. what’s his name, huh?” your stomach turns, but you don’t let it show. instead, you smile. “why? you jealous? go cry about it, asshole.” he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “you know he’s just using you, right? you’re nothing but a warm hole to him.” your hand flies up before you can think better of it, shoving his face away. “yeah. like that wasn’t exactly what i was to you too, motherfucker.” he stumbles back a step, running a hand over his jaw. “we never talked about what the fuck we wanted, or what we expected from each other. so don’t—don’t—” “that’s what you tell yourself? that you didn’t lead me on? that you didn’t fuck with my head for months?!” you cut him off. “you’re a fucking coward, subong. too fucking scared to admit you wanted me, but the second i move on, suddenly you give a shit?” “move on? to who? that fucking loser? you think he actually gives a shit about you?” “and you do?” “you can’t just act like we never fucking happened!” “we didn’t happen, that’s the thing!” you shoot back. “you didn’t want to be with me like that,” your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “so you don’t get to fucking act like this. you don’t get to be jealous, you don’t get to start fights over me, and you sure as hell don’t get to drag me back here like you own me.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. he looks away for a second, like if he doesn’t meet your eyes, this won’t sting as much. like he can pretend this isn’t hitting him the way it is. his fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold onto something—maybe the last shred of whatever this used to be. his breath comes sharp through his nose, the kind that’s meant to steady him but doesn’t do a damn thing. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, voice rough around the edges. “i don’t—i don’t own you.” but there’s something bitter in the way he says it, like he hates that it’s true. like he hates that he ever let it get to this point. you’re not his anymore. you never were, really. “then stop acting like it! don’t try to ruin everything just because you can’t handle the fact that i moved the fuck on!” for a second, he doesn’t say anything. his eyes flick over your face, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something worse. but then— “if you had, you wouldn’t have let that motherfucker shove his tongue down your throat right in front of me.” you scoff. “you think i did that on purpose?” he steps in, too close, and you instinctively take a step back. “fuck yeah, you did. you wanted me to see it. you wanted to fucking piss me off.” “you piss yourself off, subong! newsflash! not everything is about you! get over yourself.” “get over myself? you made me look like a fucking idiot out there!” “what the fuck are you talking about?” his eyes flash. “you made me lose the fucking battle, man!” you blink, caught off guard for half a second, then roll your eyes. “first of all, i’m not a man. second of all, don’t blame that shit on me.” “right. it’s never your fucking fault, huh?” he shakes his head. “you just get to do whatever the fuck you want and act like it doesn’t affect me.” you throw your hands up. “if you weren’t such a fucking asshole, maybe this wouldn’t have happened!” “yeah?!” “yeah!”

and then there’s silence. thick, heavy silence. his breathing is still ragged, his hands still curled into fists at his sides. your heart is pounding, your own fists clenched just as tight. then subong scoffs, shaking his head. “you’re so fucking full of shit.” “excuse me?” “you wanna talk about me being an asshole when you’ve been ignoring me for months? like i didn’t fucking exist.” the pain in his voice is evident and it catches you off guard. “i wasn’t—i didn’t ignore you. i was trying to heal. you’re seriously throwing that in my face right now?” “yeah, i am. don’t act like you’re the only one who got hurt.” “don’t do that.” “do what? tell the truth? you fucking blocked me, girl!” “no! don’t—don’t twist shit around just to make yourself feel better,” you snap. “you know exactly why i did it. don’t act like you’re the fucking victim.” “who is it then? you?” he scoffs. “oh, eat shit, subong! you never fucking came to see me!” you throw your arms out, exasperated. “not once! you could’ve fixed this, but you didn’t.” his jaw clenches, but he doesn’t look away. “you think i didn’t want to?” “i don’t know what the fuck you wanted!” your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “i called! and texted you every single fucking day!” “and you think that’s enough?! after everything?!” "i almost fucking overdosed!" he yells. "i was at my fucking lowest, and you—" he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you weren't there." you shake your head, anger bubbling in your chest. "don't put that on me, subong. you did that to yourself," you snap, voice sharp. "don't fucking guilt trip me with that." "are you serious?" “what do you want me to say? did you expect me to just forget everything and come back to you like nothing happened? you promised me—how many times?—that you weren’t gonna do that shit anymore, and here we are! and not only are you trying to make me feel like a fucking piece of shit for it, but you’re also acting like this—all of this—is my fault? when you were the one who decided i wasn’t good enough to be anything more than a fuck buddy?”

his expression falters—just a flash of something almost guilty—but then he scoffs, masking it with anger. “you’re really trying to act like you didn’t fucking replace me the second i was gone?” “replace you?” you repeat, incredulous. “you can’t be serious right now. i wasn’t the one fucking other people when we were…. whatever we were!” he freezes, his face draining of color for a split second. “don’t bring that shit up.” “oh, I’ll bring it up, alright. because you can’t say that shit to me when you were too busy screwing around while i was waiting for you to call me your fucking girlfriend.” he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a group of people walk past, glancing over at the scene. a couple of them whisper, eyes flicking nervously from you to subong. his face hardens, irritation flashing across his features, and without warning, he grabs your wrist. “what the fuck are you looking at?” he snaps at them. the group quickly averts their gazes, pretending they weren’t just watching him. he yanks you away and you struggle for a moment, trying to free yourself from his grip, but he doesn’t let go. you’re too caught up in the heat of the moment to really think about where he’s taking you. before you know it, you’re being shoved through a door into a dimly lit room backstage, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes in the silence. the room is small, cluttered with his belongings—bags, jackets, and scattered items. a mirror with round vanity lights casts a dull glow over the space, reflecting the mess on the counter: a half-empty water bottle, energy drink cans, his vape, a lighter, a bunch of candy wrappers and a few crumpled papers.

“you need to stop doing that!” you snap. “dragging me around like i’m—i don’t know—like i’m some puppet!” he ignores your words. “listen,” he says, “i tried to make it right, okay? i did.” “calling me? texting me?” you scoff, disbelief laced in your voice. “that’s what you think making it right looks like? all you ever did was send bullshit messages—half insults, half nothing at all.” you shake your head. “if you actually meant it, you would’ve come to me. you know where i live, where i work—you had every chance to show up, to prove that you actually gave a damn. but you didn’t.” his voice shakes now. “i thought… i thought you didn’t fucking need me anymore! i thought you’d be better off without me!” “better off without you?! that’s the dumbest excuse i’ve ever heard!” before you can stop yourself, you shove him, hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “you were my fucking best friend, you idiot!” your voice cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek, and you have to look away. “and i…” the words tangle in your throat. you swallow hard, forcing them out. “i fucking loved you.”

the words hit him like a fist to the gut. he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. because he knows. he knows exactly how that feels. he’s loved you too—probably longer than he even realized. but he’s never said it. not properly. not in a way that mattered anyway. and now? now it sounds like it’s too fucking late. “loved,” he repeats. “past tense?” you don’t answer. “you don’t—you don’t love me anymore?” the words slip out before he can stop them, and he hates how pathetic they sound, how fucking vulnerable they make him. “subong i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i can’t do this,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “answer me,” he presses, stepping closer, his pulse thundering in his ears. “please.” “i’m not talking about this,” you say firmly, reaching for the door. but he moves faster, pressing his hand against it, keeping you trapped in the small room with him. you squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply. “i don’t want to see you again, subong.” “i do.” “well, i don’t.” “why not?” “because it fucking hurts!” the words barely leave your lips before the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once. “it… it hurts.” your throat burns, and suddenly, you can’t hold it back anymore. a choked sob rips through you, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

subong’s eyes widen for half a second, like he doesn’t know what to do with the sight of you breaking down in front of him. but then, without hesitation, he reaches for you. “i know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “i know, baby.” the warmth of him, the familiarity, the way he holds you…it all feels too fucking good. too safe. too much like home. you sob into his shirt, fists clutching at the fabric, body shaking as months’ worth of pain and anger pour out of you. he holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other resting firm against your waist. “i’m sorry,” he breathes.

you suck in a sharp breath, realization slamming into you. and just like that, the warmth turns suffocating. “no,” you whisper, pushing against his chest. he stiffens. “what—” “get off me.” he hesitates, grip loosening slightly, but you shove harder, forcing space between you. “fuck, subong, what the hell am i doing?” he looks at you, confused, almost dazed, like he doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly pulling away. “baby—” “don’t call me that,” you cut him off. “i can’t—i can’t do this with you.” his jaw tightens. “you don’t mean that. you know you don’t.” “i do! because you fucking broke me!” you yell, hands trembling. “and i hate that you still make me feel like this!” you pause, trying to catch your breath, wiping at your face furiously. you hate the way the tears cling to your skin. you hate even more that he’s standing there, watching you cry. you force yourself to steady your voice. “i’m leaving.” “no, you’re not.” he’s there—blocking the door. you let out a frustrated breath, shoving at him again, but he doesn’t move an inch. “subong, move.” nothing. he doesn’t even blink. “is he your boyfriend?” the question throws you off balance. your brows furrow, and for a moment, the anger is eclipsed by confusion. “what?” “that guy. is he your boyfriend?” you exhale sharply, shaking your head as you glare at him. “jesus christ, subong, really?” “is he?” “it’s none of your business,” the words are clipped, laced with venom. his eyes darken. “none of my—?” he drags a hand through his hair, like he’s barely keeping himself together. for a second, it looks like he might actually lose it. “seriously? you can’t even say no?” “why does it matter?!” you snap. “it fucking matters to me!” your heart pounds. you don’t know why it’s so hard to answer, why the words feel like they’re lodged in your throat. his patience wears thin. “fucking hell, just—” “no!” you cut him off. “he’s not my boyfriend, okay?!” you shake your head. “did you fuck him?” “are you serious right now?” “answer the fucking question,” he demands, stepping closer. you scoff, shaking your head. “you’re actually insane.” “fucking answer!” “yes!” the word rips out of you before you can stop it. “yeah, i did. happy now?”

for a moment, he doesn’t react. he just stares at you, like the air has been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare. but nothing can stop the thought from sinking its claws into him—someone else touching you, having you, getting what he let slip through his fingers. it makes him sick. and it’s his own damn fault. he knows he has no right to be angry. no right to feel this way. but the jealousy curdles in his stomach, and before he can stop himself, the words tear from his mouth like a whip. “you’re a fucking whore.” the second he says it, he hates himself for it. but he doesn’t take it back. your fury is instant, white-hot.“fuck you! don’t call me that!” “i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want!” he snaps. he needs to hurt you, to make you feel even a fraction of what he’s feeling. “you really don’t see how fucking pathetic that is? spreading your legs for some guy who doesn’t even matter?” the words taste like acid in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway. he doesn’t know how else to deal with the anger, the self-hatred he feels. it’s easier to take it out on you than to admit the truth—that he ruined everything, that he’s the reason you were with someone else.

your vision goes red. before you can think, before you can stop yourself, your hand swings up and smacks across his face. his head jerks to the side from the impact, and for a moment, everything is dead silent except for the sharp sound of your ragged breathing. then, slowly, he turns back to you, his jaw tightening, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek like he’s tasting the sting of your palm. “did you just hit me?” his voice is low. oh, he’s angry. “yeah, i fucking did,” you say, your hands trembling. “because you’re a fucking piece of shit!” “you’ve got some fucking nerve!” he seethes, shoving your forehead with two of his fingers, forcing your head back slightly. you slap his hand away, your own anger doubling at the touch. “do that again, and i’ll break your fucking fingers, motherfucker,” you warn. “you just slapped me!” “and you called me a whore twice, subong! i wonder how the fuck i was ever friends with you! you’re a hypocrite!” he steps closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “don’t fucking talk to me like that!” “and i told you many times not to fucking point your finger at me!” you yell, shoving his hand away harder this time. so hard his arm jerks back. “who the fuck do you think you are?! you can’t fucking judge me when you’re the one who—”

his patience snaps. he grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the wall. it hits with a loud crack, rattling from the impact before toppling over. you flinch, but you don't back down. “real fucking mature.” “you don’t fucking get it.” “why do you even care, huh? you have plenty of other girls to fuck, don’t you?” you spit. “so why the fuck does it matter who i’m with? why is it a problem when you do the exact same shit?” he doesn’t say anything. fine. you’re done here. you reach for the door again, shoving past him. “i’m leaving—” “i lied.” his voice stops you cold. slowly, you turn back, brows furrowing. “what?” he swallows hard. “i lied about it. there was never another girl.” you stare at him in disbelief. “i just—i said that shit to piss you off. to make you hate me. but i never—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i never touched anyone else when i was with you.”

your mind spins, struggling to piece together what he’s saying. he’s lying again. he has to be. “you expect me to believe that?” your voice is defensive. “i don’t give a fuck if you believe me,” he snaps back. “it’s the truth.” your throat tightens. there’s something in his eyes, something desperate, something you’re not used to seeing. “why?” he hesitates. his lips part, then press into a thin line. “because i—” he exhales sharply, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to look at you again. “because i love you. i’ve—” “don’t fucking lie to me, subong.” frustration flashes across his face. “i’m not lying, okay?! i’ve—” “sure as hell you aren’t.” “jesus—can i fucking talk?!” you huff, arms crossing tightly over your chest. your jaw aches from how hard you’re clenching it. but you don’t interrupt again. you let him speak. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long, and it scared the shit out of me. you were my best friend and i didn’t—i didn’t know how to do it. how to be with you without fucking it all up.” you shake your head, gripping your arms tighter. “you can’t just say this shit and think it fixes everything,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you loved me, and you never told me. you preferred this… this shit between us rather than just… being fucking honest. you—” your breath shudders and you stop to breathe for a moment. “you’re confusing me, subong.”

he sighs. you can see it in his eyes—the regret, the pain, the anger at himself. then, he steps closer. his hands find your face, fingers gentle as they cup your cheeks. his thumbs move carefully, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling. his touch is soft—so fucking soft it almost breaks you. you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in your throat. you shouldn’t let him do this. shouldn’t let him hold you like this, shouldn’t let yourself sink into the warmth of his hands. but you do. because it’s him. “i’m sorry, baby” he murmurs, his breath warm against your face. “fuck, i’m so sorry.” his voice is lower now, and when you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you—his brows furrowed. “i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continues, his hands steady on your face. “i swear to god, i didn’t.” “but you did.” “i know,” he whispers. “i was a fucking idiot.” his thumbs still trace slow paths along your skin, like he’s trying to ground himself in the feel of you. you try to look away, but he won’t let you. his grip isn’t forceful, but it’s firm—just enough to keep you there. “i can’t stop thinking about you,” he says, his brows furrowing deeper, like it physically hurts him to admit it. “no matter what i do—it’s always you.” “don’t—” “it’s the truth,” he cuts in, his hands sliding down to your jaw, his fingers just barely brushing your neck. “i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep thinking about you. every fucking song i write is about you. every stupid little thing reminds me of you.” you shake your head, blinking back tears. “stop it.” “i can’t,” he breathes. “i don’t know how.”

he leans in slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours. “tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll go.” your heart pounds so hard it hurts. he’s so close… and the way he’s looking at you, like he’s daring you to push him away, makes something snap inside you. before he can say another word, you grab his shirt and yank him down, crashing your lips against his. subong freezes for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he groans into your mouth, his hands gripping at your waist as he kisses you back just as hard. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s backing you up, walking you straight into the wall. the impact makes a sharp gasp escape you, but he swallows it down, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back as his mouth moves against yours.

then it happens—your breath catches, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. he stops. his lips hover just over yours, his chest rising and falling against you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you. “are you okay?” you don’t answer. instead, you pull him back in, your fingers curling around the back of his neck. you kiss him harder, and he lets you—lets you take what you need, lets you pour everything you can’t say into this. his fingers tangle in your hair, tugging just enough to pull your head back before pressing his forehead to yours. “tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips. in a broken whisper, you finally say it. “i need you.” he’s been waiting to hear that. for months, it’s been the only thing on his mind—you. every time he got high, every time he tried to flirt with someone else, every time he told himself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter. but it was all a lie. because you did. you always did. and now you’re here, in his arms, needing him. and he’s so fucking mad at himself for wasting all this time, for pushing you away, for pretending he didn’t want this when you’ve been the only thing he’s wanted.

that’s all it takes. he’s on you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashes against yours. he walks with you, never breaking the kiss, his fingers pressing into your sides, guiding you until your legs bump against the edge of a small table. before you can steady yourself, his hands move to your hips, helping you up until you’re perched on top of it. his lips leave yours, dragging along your jaw and your neck. one hand slides up, fingers curving over your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt. the touch alone makes a soft moan slip past your lips. he swallows the sound with another kiss, deep and greedy, before tugging your shirt up, his palms skimming your skin as he pulls it over your head. his other hand moves with purpose, working the clasp of your bra. the second it falls away, his mouth is on you. you gasp when his tongue flicks over your nipple, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you. “gonna make you feel good, baby,” he promises, his breath hot on your skin as he switches to your other breast, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make you squirm. his free hand slides down your stomach, unbuttoning your pants with practiced ease before slipping between your thighs. you spread them instinctively, your breath hitching when his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your panties. “you’re so wet for me already,” he says, pulling back to look at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

subong takes his time peeling your pants off, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your knees, your ankles. once they’re gone, he hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down at the same agonizing pace, his lips following their path. he tosses them aside without a second thought. then he’s on his knees, hands spreading your thighs wider as the cool air hits your skin, making you shiver. “let me show you how sorry i am, yeah?” you nod slowly in response. subong leans in, his breath hot against you, and you bite your lip, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. and then his tongue is on you, licking a long stripe up your center, parting your delicate folds, exploring your wetness. you gasp when it finds your clit, your hands flying to his purple hair as his tongue swirls around it in slow circles. “f-fuck, yeah, right there,” you whimper, and he hums against you in approval.

he focuses all his attention on it, flicking his tongue over the sensitive nub before sucking it gently into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out as he applies gentle pressure. you feel one of his fingers slide inside you, then two, curling them upwards and hitting that spot that makes your eyes roll back. his tongue never leaves your clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and you can feel that familiar pressure building in your lower stomach. your hand travels to the side of his face, your thumb caressing his cheek as he works you. moans grow louder, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. “subong—” you try to speak, but the words die in your throat—the pleasure too strong. he smirks, feeling you tightening around his fingers. “that’s it, baby” his voice is muffled against you. “cum for me.” and you do, your back arching, knuckles white from gripping the side of the table, a cry tearing from your throat as you fall apart. his mouth never stops, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re boneless, panting.

you try to catch your breath as he stands, pulling you into him, his mouth claiming yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. your fingers tremble slightly as they find the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric. he shudders under your touch, muscles tensing before he exhales, letting you lift the shirt over his head. it falls somewhere behind him as your hands roam his chest. this isn’t like before. like the other times you’ve had sex. there’s something different in the way his fingers brush your skin, in the way he watches you like he’s afraid to blink, afraid to miss a second of this. you reach for his waistband, tugging at it, and he lets you, his breathing uneven as he watches your hands work him free. his pants and boxers slip to the floor, and he steps out of them, never once breaking contact.

“do you… do you have a condom?” you ask quietly. he stills, his hands resting on your hips as he looks at you. his brows pull together slightly. “no,” he admits, then asks, “do you?” you shake your head. “no.” “shit,” he exhales, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you can tell he’s frustrated—not at you, but at the situation. “it’s… it’s okay. we don’t need one,” you add softly. his head snaps back up. “you sure?” he asks, and you nod. “i want to feel you.” your words are the confirmation he needs. he grabs your thighs before pulling you closer to the edge of the table, spreading them apart to find room between them. his raw tip presses against your clit and you take a deep breath when he starts grinding against you, his stiff dick sliding across your wet slit. you both moan at the feeling, but nothing compares to the gasp that escapes both of your lips the moment he slides inside of you.

he’s slow at first, letting you adjust to the feeling, his hands holding you in place as he sinks in deeper, stretching you around him. you try to steady yourself, holding onto the side of the table with one of your hands again. his breath is uneven, and each slow, measured thrust makes you ache for more. but then his pace shifts. his grip tightens, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back and thrusts in harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the space between you, mixed with your breathless moans and his ragged groans. when you meet his gaze, his brows are furrowed, his lips parted. you can see it all written on his face: how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting, how badly he’s yearned for you. he looks like he’s barely holding himself together, like he’s afraid he won’t last because you feel too fucking good. “fuck,” he grits out, voice strained, his fingers flexing against your hips. “i missed you s-so fucking much…” his words cut off in a groan, his head dropping forward, forehead pressing to yours as he fucks you like he’s trying to make up for all the lost time. “i missed this… mmm… missed this pretty pussy of y-yours.” he drives into you harder, like he’s trying to claim you, like he’s trying to erase every trace of anyone else who’s ever touched you—muttering curses under his breath like he’s punishing himself as much as he’s fucking you. your nails scrape down his back, leaving red streaks in their wake, and he groans at the sting, at the way you cling to him. “fuck, baby—” he gasps, voice rough. “was he better than me? tell me,” he demands, his thrusts turning brutal, each one punctuating his words. “did he—did he fuck you like this? mmh? shit… did he make you cum like i-i do?” there’s anger in his voice. not at you—at himself. for waiting too long, for not telling you the truth when he had the chance, for letting someone else have you. you shake your head in response. his hand grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “answer me.” “n-no!” you whimper “he… he didn’t, baby. only you—mmph!—only you make me f-feel this good.”

his grip on your chin tightens for a second before he releases you, his hand sliding down to wrap around your throat instead. not squeezing, just holding—just feeling you. his pace doesn’t slow, if anything, it gets rougher, like your answer wasn’t enough to satisfy the anger. “that’s right,” he grits out, sweat slicking his skin. “he could never…he could never fuck you like this.” his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise as he slams into you, making you cry out. you hold onto him, and he loves it—loves feeling you claim him the way he’s claiming you now. and fuck, he needs this, needs to remind himself that you’re here, wrapped around him—that you’re his. “look,” he mutters, commanding. “look how fucking g-good you’re taking me.” your breath hitches as your eyes drop, and fuck—seeing it is different. watching the way his dick disappears inside you, the way your body clenches around him, the way he’s completely buried in you, over and over again… “see that?” he pants. “you were made for me. this was fucking made for me.” his hand moves again, sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, precise circles. “shit—subong!” you let out a broken moan. “y-yeah… fuck, yeah, just like that!” a whimper slips from your lips when subong fists your hair, tugging your head back up until your eyes meet his again. “say it,” he practically pleads. “say that you're mine.” “i-i'm yours!" you gasp, your voice shaking, your whole body trembling from the intensity of him. “i'm fucking yours…mmm… always been.” “i’m yours too, baby.”

his thrusts grow frantic and his breath comes in harsh, uneven bursts. all he can hear is the sound of his name falling from your lips in desperate, breathless moans. he swears he’s never heard something as beautiful. you can tell he is close, holding you in place as he leans over you, his forehead pressing against yours. your body tenses, your gummy walls clenching around him, his fingers still pressed on your clit as he pounds into you, making it impossible for you to hold back. your body tenses, and your free hand clings to the back of his neck with desperation as you kiss him, trying to muffle your whimpering. “gonna cum for me, b-baby?” he whispers, pulling away for a moment. “gonna—mmh! gonna cum on my cock?” you can’t even nod. his words are like a spark, and you can’t hold it back anymore. your body snaps, the pleasure flooding you. “subong!” you cry out, legs shaking. he watches you, his name on your lips, and the sight of you completely undone drives him to the edge. with a final, deep thrust, he follows you, quickly pulling out, his release spilling into your lower stomach. his face contorts, a strangled gasp escaping him as he rides out his own climax. he stays there for a moment, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily, sweat-slicked skin sticking together. “i love you,” you whisper, hands running through his messy hair. “i love you too, señorita,” he smirks, his hand cupping your cheek before leaning in to give you a small peck on the lips. “i missed you.”

subong is a good boyfriend. or at least he tries to be. he still messes up sometimes, still says things without thinking, still gets into fights he shouldn’t, but he’s trying. you see it in the way he waits for you after work, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying to play it cool, but you know he’s been standing there for a while. in the way he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, even though you never asked him to. you see it in the way he always grabs an extra drink when he stops by the convenience store, handing it to you without a word, like he just knew you’d want one. in the way he texts you did you eat? before he even says hello. in the way he always grumbles about carrying your bag when it looks too heavy, but takes it anyway. in the way he lets you steal his hoodies, rolling his eyes when you show up wearing one but never actually asking for it back. you see it in the way he lets you mess with his hair, even when he pretends to hate it. in the way he looks at you, like he still can’t believe you’re his. in the way he says your name, soft around the edges. in the way he tells you he loves you—not just with words, but in a hundred different ways, every single day.

there’s no confusion anymore. no second-guessing, no wondering where you stand with each other. he wants you, and he’s not afraid to say it. he tells you all the time, in every way he knows how. sometimes it’s casual, like when he looks at you in the middle of a conversation, something soft in his eyes, and says, “you know i love you, right?” like he just needs you to know. and then there are times when he’s shameless about it. like the time he made it his entire mission to embarrass you in front of both of your friends, throwing an arm around your shoulders and grinning as he declared, “isn’t my girlfriend the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen? no offense to you, semi.” there’s a beat of silence before half of them go “what?!” while the others just exchange knowing looks. “wait—dude, since when?!” namgyu asks. “oh, come on,” semi scoffs, rolling her eyes. “like we didn’t all see this coming.” subong just smirks, pulling you a little closer, dropping a kiss to your cheek. he’s here, and he’s yours, and he makes sure you know it.

you’re still best friends. you still laugh until your stomach hurts, still steal food off each other’s plates, still shove at each other like you’re kids. except now he kisses you after. or before. or sometimes instead of shoving you back. he’s still stubborn, still gets on your nerves more than anyone else. he’s not perfect, but he never pretends to be. and maybe that’s what makes it feel so easy. there’s nothing to prove, nothing to question. just the two of you, exactly as you are, exactly as you’ve always been. just you and him.

if you’ve read this far, i love you, let’s get married pookie ong

[shikaizer]

DIRTY PLEASURE 004.

ᯓ Paige Bueckers x Reader x Caitlin Clark

KINDLY CHECK THIS OUT FOR THE PARTS, SUMMARY AND WARNING > SERIES MASTERLIST

The day have ended with a pinkish hue in the sky that gave you the best comfort, knowing that all your hard work and dedication thru the year is finally over since its the end of your school year. you plopped yourself down on your bed feeling the cold air breeze hitting your body making you smile. "finally.. rest.." you take youe phone out to see paige's message popping up. 'take a rest pretty girl.' you smiled reacting a heart on it. while caitlin didn't message you, but i was okay because you saw her in court earlier and she explained that she was spending in to practice then gave you a kiss on the forehead. honestly you have no idea what is your relationship between these two. but your loving it. you love it so much you ignored the fact you haven't cleared up your relationship with them. only situation knows.

as your scrolling on the app your university has made, for some updates and sometimes some annonymous students who would post the most hottest tea. as you scrolled, you saw a video that was being viral, you decided to click on it.

your heart dropped feeling sick to the stomach, seeing aliyah in the disturbing video, her stomping on a poor girl and her grandmother while some few breads that looks like they sell for living is scattered around. you cant even believe what your seeing right now assuming that aliyah was the first one you have gotten close with and the first one who would help me you in any way.

she was also the reason why you have some few knowledges about the girls history, how can a girl tell you some vulgar rumors meanwhile she also has some disguting history?

you shaked your head in disbelief starting to panic, your hands starting to shake tears swelling down your face, you put your phone down to relax, the pleading screams and muffled laughs in the background still being heard.

the first one to come to your thoughts was paige and caitlin, even though you and aliyah had recently fought over the fact your still very close to those two while she have already warned you.

you called paige's number and not even a 5 second the call was answered. "hello.???" you called out and paige let out a phew making you tilt your head. "hey pretty girl." you sighed a small smile forming your face "can i stay over tonight?" you asked fidgeting with your keyboard and a laugh was heard, "whew miss us already baby?" you hear caitlin in the background followed by paige chuckling

"yeah what if i do?" you teased smirking pressing your thighs together, a silent was heard for a second before hearing a shuffle. "on our way babe, stay there." you softly smiled and hang up the phone.

waiting for them to arrive while you packed some things and essential, a good 7 minutes have passed and before you know it a message popped on your phone 'come out'. you grabbed your phone and bag going outside, making your way downstairs and finally seeing the luxurious black car they own.

opening the backseat door you placed your bag first and sat yourself down "hey princess" caitlin hummed and you smiled at her thru the rearview as she starts the engine, paige looked over to you and smiled "wonder why our pretty girl needs us all the sudden... are you sure you really miss us or its something else?" she teased caitlin letting out a small chuckle.

"oh please." you scoffed rolling your eyes, knowing them the cycle of the teasing will never stop. you reached for your phone and a unknown number has popped up on your phone, clicking on them made your eyes go wide.

:this is all your fault!

:aliyah is suffering because of you, that video was literally years ago! because of your fucking girlfriend!

:paige right or caitlin? fuck i dont even know if your taking them both you whore! and just to remind you, paige was recording and caitlin was literally in that video hyping up aliyah!

:aliyah had already apologized years ago and they did nothing! they took all the blame on aliyah! i hope your having a great day destroying someones life.

you put your phone down with mixed feelings and guilt washing over you. you decided to confront the both of them, you looked at caitlin over the rearview and she was already staring at you, she have noticed the change on your behaviour and raised her eyebrows. "whats wrong?" you hesitated for a second, finally bringing the courage to speak up.

"do you guys know aliyah?" you asked and you sense paige getting quiet but caitlin has no idea "yeah, me and paige were in a group" you raised both your eyebrows having all the answers you needed but paige was extremely quiet.

"she ever hurt someone?" you asked again this time it already seemed like you knew the answer.

"yeah alot" caitlin shrugged unsure and you hear paige shifting on her seat.

"and you guys record her?" you raised your eyebrows earning a quiet atmosphere. caitlin took another glance at you thru the rearview and you kept a firm stare. "and posted it on our community app?" you added again this time the both of them looked at each other with a knowing gaze before paige spoke up.

"what are you even talking about princess?" paige spoke up mocking a innocent tone, but your not convinced at all as you scowled.

"i know what the both of you did." you stated glaring at them and caitlin glared back at you smirking "you sure you wanna take the blame on us babe?" you felt sickened to the stomach, they know what they did yet they dont wanna admit it. "tell me, why you decided to spread that video." you desperately asked and caitlin rolled her eyes, the quiet demeanor was enough answer for you and you nodded.

"do you have any idea what you two did? she is suffering!" you shaked your head voice raising and you see caitlin signalling paige to go to the backseat with you.

"you wanna talk to us that way?" paige asked in a low voice startling you, but you didn't care less, right now your worried for aliyah. "yes! shes my fucking friend and the two of you are insane!"

at this moment you have reached their temper, paige grabbed you roughly pulling you in her lap as she pulled onto your hair roughly making you squirm.

"what the fuck did you say?" paige growled her jaw clenching causing tears to fall on the corner of your eyes "why are crying?" she scoffed furrowing her eyebrows eye squinting "shit..hurts" you hold onto her hand thats currenly gripping on your hair trying to remove it.

"paige do that shit at home. theres police around." caitlin muttured as she pulled down the window since a police will be checking our car, paige got you off her lap and took a glare at you.

caitlin finally drove off and sighed taking a glance at you thru the rearview. "shes ungrateful isn't she?" caitlin looked over at paige and clicked her tounge "damn yeah she is." paige shaked her head in disbelief. this was the first time you have seen this side of them. was it because you caught them at what they did?

"we give you anything and this is what you repay us?" paige growled grabbing your jaw roughly looking deeply in your eyes.

"fucking answer." she shaked your chin her grip tightening. "grateful." you breathe out and she tilt her head jaw clenching. "yeah? then why are you acting like your not?" you stayed quite and she pushed you by the chin falling on your back as she got on top of you.

"what the fuck did i say? i said take it home." caitlin glared thru paige at the rearview and paige rolled her eyes and glared at you to behave.

she smirked looking at caitlin scoffing "are you fucking jealous that i get to have my way with her right now?" she states and caitlin got quiet but the clench on her jaw was showing, she parked on a empty sidewalk with the only source of light is far away from their distance making the scenery scary. caitlin got out of the car and entered the backseat with the two of you.

you looked at paige with horror, and she smirked at you moving aside. "sorry baby.." looking at her like she will be saving you was not helping. you stayed there layed down while caitlin got on top of you. "you think i cant have my way with her?" she emphasized the "her" and looked at me like i was just someone who she can handle.

"say that shit again once you hear how loud i'll be making her." she states and paige shrugged. realizing what the situation will be turning to, you decided to stop it as soon as possible as the way they are acting obviously they will be rough with you.

"im sorry." you whispered and the both of them looked at you for a moment, followed by caitlin smirking amused in her eyes. "your sorry?" she leaned down her cocky smirk never leaving. "prove it then." you tilt your head confused.

"how do i..." caitlin was quick to pull your shorts down and you gasped.

"pleasure yourself infront of us." your jaw dropped your eyes widen and you tried to look at her eyes to see if she was kidding but she was dead serious.

"but..." you are cut off by her frowning tilting her head "your not sorry then?" you sighed looking down as your fingers made its way on your clit and you moaned feeling good. "if you dont want to you can stop." paige added and you shaked your head since your already turned on. and you actually wanted this. "you sure?" she asked but voice still firm not showing any comfort. "yes.." you nodded starting to rub your clit looking down but caitlin caught your chin making you look up at her. "eyes up here" she tapped your chin and sat back relaxing her body both of them watching you amused. "shes really doing it fuck." paige muttured under her breath when you begin to wet your clit throwing your head back. caitlin not being able to resist the sight of you, she yanked your arm pulling you closer to her kissing you roughly, she then tilted her head to look at your desperate expression.

"fuck." she clicked her tounge not being able to withstand the sight of you, they way your fingers are wet because of your clit and the way your legs are wide infront of them making them aroused.

and then, your phone started ringing. making them stop, looking over at the phone in your purse, paige took it and laughed, showing the screen on caitlin. "your little girlfriend is calling" she took the phone and handed it to you. "answer it." you took the phone it was aliyah. pressing the green button.

"aliyah?" you called out and gasped loudly when caitlin inserted three fingers inside you not being able to adjust. "hey..can we talk?" you squeezed your eyes shut mouthing a curse word.

"yes! yes.." you rolled your eyes biting your moutj from the sudden raise of voice which she probably noticed on the call. "well.. um im sorry for lashing out at you.. i really didn't mean it" you squeezed your eyes shut, jaw dropped. caitlins fingers curling your insides moving them in and out.

caitlins tounge poked at her cheek and smirked amused. you cocked your head trying to maintain straight words. "all good...mmmh" you gripped on the phone elicting silence on the other side. "you okay?" you threw you head back and caitlin leaned down kissing your neck.

"yes! im fine..?" voice raising once again you mentally slapped your self.

"you know...why i hated when you get close with those two cunts?" paige rolled her eyes and caitlin gripped on your neck making you whimper.

"ever since i saw you...you made me feel something." you frowned tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes.

"i like you so much... i dont-" paige grabbed the phone and threw it across the car "bullshit." cursing under her breath, clearly aliyah heard.

"fuck!" you shouted once paige slapped your face gripping on your jaw, caitlin frowning her fingers giving a harsh thrust inside you.

"so thats why your fucking defending her huh?" paige growled and caitlin clicked her tounge. "choosing her over us?" paige slapped you again seriously mad. you whimpered starting to sob. "no...." you shaked your head and paige rolled her eyes "why are you fucking crying?" paige raised her eyebrows while caitlin never stopped her fingers inside you. "we are the one whos suppose to be hurt right?" you nodded as you sighed catching your breath.

"does she fuck you this good baby?" caitlin managed to tease and paige cursed under her breath taking a blunt making her way outside the car.

"you made her mad..." she cooed leaning down to kiss your cheeks. "i didn't know... that she liked me i swear.." you pleaded and she gave you a cocky smirk nodding "i dont even fucking believe you." she shaked her head curling her fingers and giving last thrust, your eyes felt heavy while your climax reached you.

[bunni-v1]

so shadow milk legendary costume is coming so can we get more content of pre-corruption smilk 😝😝😭 pretty please and thank you ♥️

🍓Again I’m gonna call him Blueberry Yogurt because typing out pre corruption is annoying as fuck. Anyway, yes you can pookie mwah mwah mwah! These are short, but I still hope u like them :)

-Blueberry Yogurt is veryyyyy different from Shadow Milk. Shadow Milk describes his past self as a “Goody two shoes wet rag with no personality,” and while he’s being dramatic I don’t think he’s far off.

-Blueberry Yogurt is contemplative, gentle, kind, and above all else caring. He loves his subjects and his friends and he aims to share his knowledge with everyone. He’s in all sense of the word harmless. A sweet cookie with nothing but good intentions.

-He’s, essentially, his position as sage. And he doesn’t mind that, but he’s never really considered that he could be anything more. It’s what he was baked for, of course.

-Booooriiingggggg, as Shadow Milk would put it. But Blueberry Yogurt was content with things, it’s only after he realized cookies turn from the truth — mixed with the understanding of the sheer amount of power he held, that his mind changed.

-You we’re part of that realization. That, maybe, he could be more than what he was. That the life he lived wasn’t all it seemed to be. He was never made to fall in love, but he did, whose to say there isn’t more for him out there?

-But before that, he was likely the perfect partner to have. He cares a lot about his partner and their well-being, and he wants to be their total equal, even if they’re weaker than him.

-He spends a lot of his spare time with you. He’s an incredibly busy cookie with too many things to do, but he will always find time to spend on you. You are a high priority in his life, and he makes sure you know that.

-He likes having you around him, even when you aren’t doing the same things. Just you being there brings him peace of mind and makes him feel content.

-You being educated is equally important to him, so he takes the time to have conversations about serious topics. He’s particularly fond of reading with you and discussing the books with a critical eye. He won’t let you be blind to the truth, and if you’re afraid of it, he’ll work with you to ensure you aren’t.

-He’ll take you around the town when he visits, and most cookies know you as “The Sage’s Lover”. He won’t admit it, but that fact makes him proud. He loves to show you off, and he loves the fact that others know you’re together.

-Oh he does this cute thing where he’ll sweep you up in his arms and dance around with you. He’ll press you tightly against his body and swirl around like you’re at a real ball.

-He is so much more open about how much he loves you. He has no reason to hide or fear his affections for you, so he just doesn’t. His love is unabashedly displayed through physical touch as Blueberry Yogurt.

-Soft and gentle kisses pressed upon you dough. He burns into your dough his love for you so that you never forgot how much you are adored.

-He pulls you close and whispers his adoration like a prayer, as if to convince you of his love for you. Like you might forget if he doesn’t remind you so tenderly.

-He treats you to beautiful dates in locations you’ve only dreamed about, each one more heartfelt and romantic than the last. They’re built specifically to wow you, and he’s phenomenal at his job.

-He also gives you gifts all the time, hand made or things he found around the kingdom, it doesn’t matter. They’re all things you’ll make good use of, he makes sure of that.

-His goal is to make you feel considered and thought of. Again, he’s very successful. Everything he does takes you into account, and you become a very important part of his day to day life.

-One thing he does that Shadow Milk keeps is his love for carrying you around. It’s not a strength thing, he isn’t showing off, he just loves carrying you around. He feels like he can really care for you like that, so he does it as much as he can.

-He’s also very protective of you. He doesn’t stop you from engaging difficult topics and finding out truths, but he does stop others from disturbing your peace. It’s the one time he’ll use his magical abilities for selfish reasons, his need to keep you safe and happy winning out his morals for once.

-This is why when he feels himself… slipping… he sends you away as soon as he can. He doesn’t want you to think of him differently, and he’ll even take extra measures to ensure he won’t find you once he’s fully gone. (It’s the most annoying thing about himself, if you ask Shadow Milk. He plans for everything far too well.)

-It does ache and pain him to be so far from you when he does it, but it’s more important to him that you are safe. Even if it means you have to be safe from him.

[jamethinks]

Here's the thing about Anya.

Her primary goal is to achieve world peace, a concept she has no understanding of but she is fervently dedicated. Some part it is due to her childish attitude and obsession with spies but there is another part.

Anya does not understand her own self-worth and self-identity outside of her role as a tool in achieving "world peace".

When Anya grew up her main purpose was always "for the sake of world peace". Everything she did was for that sake. It was almost as if her entire reason for existing was for world peace. But it also wasn't, because she was made by accident. This adds an extra dimension where she was seen as optional. This would obviously damage herself esteem and really force her to want to please the people around her because in their minds she was more of a hassle.

When Anya was finally adopted by Twilight she found out he had the same goal as the scientists that held her before. Also, more directly he is willing to discard of her if she is not up to the task. In a way, Twilight is no different than the scientists that had her before. Of course over time he eventually empathize with her and focus more on her comfort than functionality. He does not directly scold Anya to force her fulfill this role but her telepathy gives her that knowledge.

But you clearly see the impact of the scientist on Anya's sense of self and how Twilight does not do much to help (although to some extent it is not his fault).

Anya remains fairly optimistic about the whole thing and continues to aim to achieve her goal. But we also see where these ideas negatively effect her. It makes her clingy, desperate, it keeps her in a constant fear of rejection. even the most minor forms of rejection can completely shatter her because she for her any failure puts her one step closer back into the street.

This is one of the traits she actually shares with both Damian and Becky. I will focus on Damian to keep it short though. Damian is very preoccupied with being the best. He lives a very isolated life and has no relationship with his own family. For what ever reason, he accredits this to his father. Damian believes that the only to get his father's approval and therefore his (and the rest of his families') love is if he succeeds. There is also this additional pressure put on him because of his father's status which externalizes this pressure. The reason he likes Anya so much is because she does not apply that pressure. She does not expect to be great, she just wants to be his friend for her mission. There is also that transparency which makes him feel less tricked and hence safe.

The Prince kid also mirrors that same dilemma. He has a responsibility as the Prince to maintain a certain standard and reputation. His family needs him to be strong and noble but in the end he is just a kid. When he is confront by the Freddy he is scared out of his mind, worried that if he loses he will disappoint his family.

The problem with this however, is that it further surrounds Anya with people that think the same way she does. This only encourages this kind of thinking. Anya is constantly surrounded by people that echo the same negative sentiments she has about herself and self worth. For Damian (and Becky) it works because it gives her ground to relate to them and her seemingly carefree nature allows her to motivate them to let go of this attitude.

But who is encouraging Anya to relax? Who is encouraging Anya to let go of these insecurities?

Anya's identity and motivation is still defined through her father and to a less extent the scientist. she is still motivated by the idea of world peace. However, Anya herself does not know what that means or why she should be aiming for it. It is more of a concept to her than a tangible goal. Her only true goal is to not be returned. For that reason she will never push back against Loid, she will follow his guidance and never develop a personal goal.

Now here is where i think Freddy or some delinquent of some sort will come in use.

For Anya to gain a sense of identity, she needs to push back against her father. She needs to start doing things that prioritizes her own happiness over her father's aim for world peace. She needs someone that will push into her more natural self. Anya is naturally a girl of chaos and mischief. She is not like the others who well behaved and properly trained, nor is she personally interested in being that girl. The only reason Anya is interested in achieving this is for the sake of father. She does not understand the purpose of a lot of these things she is just afraid of being sent back to the orphanage.

I feel like Anya having someone who can encourage her to lean more into the rebel side and allow to actually challenge the things she has been told. Children are curious by nature and one aspect of that is the question of "why?". Constantly provoking the people around them to explain and justify the things they tell them. Anya should also be able to decide what she agrees with and what she disagrees with. She also suffer from natural consequences of her actions. And you will never have that if never challenge your parents or teachers.

Anya is surrounded by goodie two shoes. Although she is still in touch with that curious and defiant side but if there is no one else around to encourage it she will continue to conform and eventually that curious side of her will disappear. If she never gets someone who can remind her to be young and curious she will lose that part of herself. She needs Freddy. Fuck you.

[crimsonender]

A small but important announcement/update

Hi guys. As you may have known about three months ago I got into a public argument with Youtuber and music creator Patricia Taxxon. It was messy and angry and there was a lot of interpersonal conflict and issues involved. I made two videos relating to this because I believed that Taxxon posed an active threat to vulnerable people.

My feelings, right now, are a lot more complicated. I have in hindsight, developed some nuance regarding the situation. I am not renouncing Jules Hyde, or his feelings regarding their interpersonal conflict. But, I think that is largely none of my business and did not warrant making a video that amounted to a a massive callout.

I do not think it was the right thing to do. This goes beyond what happened between myself and Orchard, someone who I approached as a critic that was examining her creative works and has proven over and over again to be callous, using thought-stopping techniques and regressive tactics to control her fans, beyond just having skeletons in her closet. Those skeletons are not what drew me to Orchard nor why I criticized her to begin with.

Taking this argument off of Tumblr and onto Youtube was my biggest mistake in all of this. However, this goes beyond that.

I tend to afford people a lot of grace, at least when they're my friends. I have afforded absolutely none of that grace to Taxxon.

I would also like to acknowledge, of the troubling actions she has taken, all of these happened when she was very young. A person I would still consider a kid. That doesn't mean those actions were okay, but it does mean she should be given a chance to heal and grow and hope that she will never do something like that again. To my knowledge there is no proof of any tangible wrongdoings since she was young, or at least, none of the contentious nature in which I discussed on my video.

I do not agree with many of Taxxon's opinions. I continue to maintain that you should have strict boundaries with anyone you meet on the internet, including your favourite Youtubers and Artists. I think some of the things she has said in the past and the present disturb and make me uncomfortable. I have been asking myself "does this warrant a Youtube stream calling her out and the fuss I kicked up?"

The answer I keep coming back to is "no." Being uncomfortable is not the same as being hurt. I don't have to like what she said. I can even argue against that rhetoric and idea. That is the nature of the internet. But what I did and what I attempted are far too close to "predator hunting" for me to continue to let it stand.

I have spoken to several people that were involved in my side of things and have alluded to these things to them in private. But for pretty much everyone this is the first time I am revealing this: I reached out to Taxxon for a private conversation, over Bluesky. (She has me blocked on tumblr, so this could be considered block evading.) She did not ask me to do this nor alluded that she wanted to do this. No one told me to do this. She is aware that I am making this post and I have discussed with her what actions will be taken in the future. I will not show you these messages, not in private, nor in public. If Taxxon chooses to do this, that is her choice and I respect it. I will trust that she won't take me out of context and will present my communication honestly. She has no reason not to. Please keep in mind this situation is still in development.

A few questions I anticipate people asking:

What now? Well, I have unlisted the original stream. The document I used for notes and screenshots will have two changes: I will be altering the text colours and background to be more readable, but will change none of the contents, besides this second change: A note at the top detailing my current stance, along with a link to this post. I will likely be unlisting or potentially privating the second stream I did, or cutting the section covering Taxxon out entirely. My decisions regarding the second video are mixed. The actions I take following all of this have not been strictly ironed out and are currently in development.

So are you and Jules not talking now? No. I also spoke to Jules about much of this. I don't really agree with or like how Taxxon treated Jules but again, this stemmed as a conflict between friends. I also think it is well within Jules right to want to distance himself and his film from Taxxon. I also understand where she's coming from. Largely I think the festival fee issue comes from a misunderstanding and breakdown of communication, and from Taxxon and Jules viewing the project and festival in very different ways from one another.

So do you think Taxxon is innocent? It really doesn't matter what I think. The testimony I heard was from an event that happened back when Taxxon was a kid. To my knowledge, there are no other proven real "victims" of Taxxon. I think she should learn better boundaries and start age gating some of her hornier videos but I don't think that constitutes as ontologically evil in the way I was presenting her.

What about [x person who has been criticizing Taxxon that you have shown to have a friendly relationship with]? I think we all need to chill out a little about the pred hunting shit. I think some of the opinions that have filtered into much of the critcism border on transphobic and are things I would never agree with. I don't think it's constructive and its just getting everyone worked up, to the point we see things that aren't there and recognize patterns that don't really weave together into anything. I can't tell anyone what to do. I can teach, to a general audience, what good boundaries and internet etiquette looks like. I can demonstrate the importance of admitting when you were wrong or made a mistake. I cannot force anyone to do anything. I understand for some of my cohorts and audience that this may be a dealbreaker. I'm sorry I disappointed you. But I am more sorry for allowing my paranoia that made me frame Taxxon not as a person but as a Monster.

I will not be posting about Taxxon and her activities or opinions going forward. I ask that anyone in my Discord and other communities to do the same and not to ask me about her either. What happened here may be part of a larger conversation I will have going forward but for the forseeable future, I will be keeping Taxxon's name out of my mouth.

And finally, to address the trans stuff:

The capacity for someone to perpetuate harm, and the capacity for them to benefit from that harm are not necessarily congruent with one another.

Myself and Patricia are both trans. There are stereotypes about trans men and trans women created by cis people that hurt both of us. The only people that truly benefit from that are cis people. I fell for those stereotypes and perpetuated them in a way that caused Taxxon harm. Trans women are not inherently dangerous just because they have unconventional interests and to not give them the same grace as every other group is transphobic. Taxxon also perpetuated stereotypes about me created by cis people that caused me harm. Trans men deserve empathy and understanding and shutting them out of conversations that affect their ability to live is transphobic. Us hurting each other even if, largely, it was at the hands of our respective audiences, is not constructive. It benefits neither of us. It hurts us and it hurts the community at large.

I hope that Taxxon finds the space to heal and grow. She deserves the grace to have messy relationships and explore things as she figures herself out and finds her place in the world as a young person, without the internet breathing down her neck and demanding her to be held accountable every time she scratches her ass the wrong way. (EDIT: I mean to say, people are criticizing her reactions to movie trailers with the same weight as her contentious behaviour.) I'm sorry for making a mess of things. I'm sorry that I asked Patricia to be the perfect minority. I do not demand nor do I expect forgiveness but it is important to me that my audience understands my position going forward.

I will not be covering this kind of thing in the future. In the past 48 hours two people unconnected to my YT channel recognized me in unrelated spaces. I have to contend with the fact that as I grow as a creator, my words carry more weight. They can damage people in a way that an unknown can't. I don't get the benefit of shouting into the void as I once did. I will go forward interacting with other creators first and foremost as a coworker and a critic, not as a watchdog. Never again. No good can come of it.

Thank you for reading, and feel free to ask me questions in the replies of this post.

EDIT: I've gotten a lot of mixed responses to this post. Please understand that this is not my complete thoughts and I'm still working to present you with something that will hopefully, for all parties, be a more satisfactory end to this. This was an initial break of tension and an announcement that I am currently at this time formulating my thoughts into something cohesive and presentable. Not on the exact time table that I initially planned to start talking about this, but as I said, there is more to come. Thank you for your patience.

[alexlwrites]

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Jungkook x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where everytime you get dumped you pretend that you never met the guy before to mess with their heads. To the point that if you run into them somewhere you reintroduce yourself and act like you’ve never seen each other before.

Enters fuckboy Jungkook who disappears after your night together, not knowing how much he was about to regret that choice.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I’m truly sorry for this sad excuse of an update.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞

(<<< part two)

You were on a date. Or so Jungkook believed.

He was skulking outside yet another coffee place, as you seemed to have a financially unadvised obsession with those. And although it might’ve seemed so to any passers-by, he was not stalking you.

He just so happened to stumble upon this place where he knew you usually had a chocolate cappuccino on Tuesdays at around 3 in the afternoon, as you didn’t have classes after 2 on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

All of that knowledge had been acquired through days of observing and cataloguing your quirks and traits. Jungkook had decided upon further introspection that just his charm and thick, veiny arms would not be enough to lure you back into his bedroom and so he decided to do some research. His findings were both surprising and not at all: you were fucking weird.

There was the caffeine addiction, the concerningly decorated messenger bags and your fixation with small fuzzy animal figurines - which he had confirmed with his little sister were called Calico Critters and, according to the expert appraisal of the nine-year-old, your collection was worth quite the money… His investigation had brought him many findings and eventually led him here: your third favorite coffee shop where you seemed to be laughing way too hard at some guy’s probably lame jokes. Couldn’t be better than his, Jungkook thought bitterly. You had laughed way harder at your… Well, one date.

Jungkook was once again taken by irrational anger, as that was all you seemed to invoke in him. How come he was climbing up the walls of his tiny dorm, haunted by the thought of your psychotic self and you got to move onto the next man (or should he say victim?) as if your night together had never happened? He felt used!

He was so close to an epiphany with that particular thought, he could feel self-actualization kissing his piercings. Alas, Jungkook was not interested in facing his own hypocrisy that day. No, he only craved confrontation and so he stepped into the cafe with squared shoulders and puffed chest like a New York pidgeon on its way to the last breadcrumb.

“Y/N” he called while approaching your table.

Your tired eye roll sent a shiver down his spine, but with you he could never tell if it was annoyance or arousal. 

Most likely both.

“Jeon” you answered in a clipped tone “how unsurprising and unpleasant to see you yet again. This is Jihoon” you gestured towards the man sitting in front of you, watching the whole interaction with mild interest “Jihoon, this is my stalker.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your little date” the way Jungkook spat out the last word made it clear that he was not at all sorry. “Also, I’m not a stalker.”

“That’s exactly what a stalker would say.” Jihoon extended his hand with an amused smile “So nice to meet you, Mr. Stalker. And please, don’t worry about our date” you snorted, making Jungkook feel like he was being left out of a big joke “this is just a couple of cousins catching up. You can still stalk her freely, although I don’t see why you would. Is it like a romantic gesture?”

“He’s already obsessed with me as it is. Don’t encourage him or I’m gonna end up in his basement.”

Jungkook felt the sudden urge to bite his fist and let out a five minute long suffering groan. Of course you were related. That look of unhinged superiority could only run in the family.

“Jeon, can I talk to you outside for a second?” You asked, but it seemed like an order as you pulled him away by his arm, Jihoon waving behind as you left the cafe.

Were you about to whoop his ass, he wondered. He didn’t doubt for a second that you could.

“This has gone too far now, Jeon” You said as soon as you were out of earshot from your curious cousin. “It was funny for maybe five minutes watching you throw a bitch fit but I’m tired of being afraid of opening my fridge at night and find you lurking behind the milk. You’re in my classes, my favorite coffee shops, the library and God knows you’re not reading in there… I even had to learn your name and for what?! What do you want from me? A therapist recommendation? A fucking exorcist?!”

“I want to take you out again.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“I hope you mean take me out with a gun and put me out of my misery!”

“I want to take you out on a date” he repeated resolutely.

“Why?! You said it yourself, you don’t have feelings for me, we have nothing in common… Haven’t I treated you shitily enough? Aren’t you loved at home?”

Jungkook scoffed. “We have plenty in common!” he said with very little conviction.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well…” he scrambled his brain for something believable, because he doubted you would believe he also enjoyed reading mildly erotic retellings of Greek Mythology in the school yard, like you so clearly did “That movie theater on Fifth Street that you love. I also love that place.”

“You do?”

“They did a marathon of a couple of Marvel movies.”

“They only show foreign movies.”

“Well, that one happened in Wakanda, so… Foreign.”

You looked at him like he had just said the stupidest thing on earth. Honestly, knowing himself, he probably did.

“First of all, it’s weird that you know my favorite movie theater and it does nothing against the stalker allegations.” Jungkook just shrugged “But fine, if we got so much in common like you say, why don’t we go watch a movie tomorrow? Mind you” you pointed a stiletto acrylic nail at him before he smiled too hard “this is not a date. This is a friendly get-together. After all, we have so much in common, right? Surely we’ll be the best of friends, like rats and the plague.”

It was not what Jungkook wanted, but being your friend was better than hiding behind the shelves of the university library, so he agreed. This was just a start and the perfect one at that. What could be better than a movie date, right?”

***

Jungkook had been crying for the last 50 minutes. When you suggested watching a movie about a dictatorship, he thought it was going to be a war movie filled with action, like Wonder Woman or A Bug’s Life. Instead, he sat through the extremely emotional retelling of a family who lost its dissident dad to the military-forced disappearances and bawled the whole time, because, hey, he loves his dad, okay? Meanwhile, you were stuffing your face with popcorn and holding back a maniacal grin, patting his head softly like he was a lost child at the mall. 

When the movie ended, credits rolling down the screen, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and try to wash his tear-streaked face. Ok, so crying (sobbing, really) at the movies was not the sexiest move he could’ve pulled, but surely an intellectual woman such as yourself liked an emotional man, right? His manly empathy probably got him some brownie points, no?

“So” you started once he left the bathroom, dabbing at his eyes with a tissue “Did you enjoy the movie?”

“Ye-yeah, I did. I mean, it was kind of sad, I guess. Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, I had already seen it.”

Jungkook stopped “What?”

“Oh, yeah, I downloaded it illegally months ago when it first aired in the Venice International Film Festival but I wanted to see your reaction. Honestly, it was so worth it.”

Jungkook had never in his life had met a more infuriating woman than you and he had a younger sister with a mean streak. Everything you did and said sent him into a spiral of frustration that had him testing the enamel of his teeth from so much grinding. “Do you enjoy watching grown men cry?” he said through a fake gritted smile.

“Yeah, don’t you? This could be one of the things we have in common! Do you want to invite your friends next time?”

Honestly, that was not that bad of an idea. Jimin and Taehyung had both been on his face for the past few days, making constant fun of him for his useless attempts at wooing you, so Jungkook would really enjoy some revenge. Maybe he could film it and become TikTok famous, maybe… Jungkook shook his head. He was not about to agree with you!

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked, trying and failing to hide his annoyance at your constant nonchalant teasing “I thought this was a friendly hang-out. Why are you being a brat?”

You raised your brows and crossed your arms and Jungkook just knew he was about to get the verbal beatdown of his life. Even the weed-smelling teenager sweeping the carpet of the movie theater seemed to know that, as he quickly swept his way into the broom’s closet with a wince. “Trust me, this is not me being a brat yet. This” you gestured towards the both of you with a menacing finger “is me being friendly. This is me being friendly to the guy who has been following me around campus for a week, disrupting my studies and my schedule. This is me being friendly to the guy who has not been able to take a hint so clearly in his face that even a blind Sherlock Holmes would say it’s fucking elementary. This is me being friendly to the man who created a narrative in his hair-filled head where he slept with me, left me and got annoyed and offended when I didn’t want to do it again. This is as friendly as I can get with bored, spoiled men-children who seem to have nothing better to do with their days besides annoying women into going out with them to fill a void they refuse to address in therapy. This is all the friendly you’re going to get from me, Jeon.”

Silence reigned over the movie theatre and even the popcorns seemed to stop popping to listen to the on-going drama. It was hard to find something to say after being emotionally stripped naked like that on a Wednesday, but Jungkook had not yet learned to take an L and shut up. 

“Look, I get that I may have given you the wrong first impression” you scoffed and seemed to be ready to go for round two “but! BUT! People can change, can’t they? I get that I’ve been pushy and I shouldn’t have called you crazy…”

“That was actually the one thing you got right.”

“But I’ve been working on it! I found out the things that you like, I watched that sad as fuck movie for you, I even got you this!” he reached into the pocket and pulled out the last thing you expected from him.

A tiny bunny figurine with a baker's hat.

“Is this a Baby Bakers Edition Calico Critters Bunny?” you asked, voice half awe and half confusion.

“My little sister said they’re limited edition. See?” he pushed the small bunny into your hand, watching you cradle it gently “I’m trying out here. What is it going to take for you to give me a chance?”

You toyed with the miniature’s ears, petting it gently as you frowned deep in thought. 

“A good reason” you answered at last. 

“What?”

“You asked what’s going to take for me to give you a chance. That 's it. I need a good reason. When I ask you ‘Why do you want to go on a date with me?’ I need you to give me a good reason.” You pocketed the bunny and stared deep into his eyes, an unsettling feeling growing in his chest “I don’t want to be some sort of point you’re proving or a challenge you’re overcoming. So I want you to give me a good reason why you want me.” you started walking away, leaving him confused once more “When you have that, then we can talk.”

°•. ✿ .•°

✿ The next chapter called "Great distress and moral conundrum" is already available on my ko-fi to Calcifer Crew, my membership tier and will be posted here soon! Click here if you want early access to all my updates :)

✿ My taglists are open! Click here to be added <3

[r0uke-k4nten]

FORSAKEN X CHILD READER

What would happen if a child were teleported into a spectre without knowledge to fend for themself? What would the other think when there's a child suddenly involved in these deadly games? How do they even survive with a child that has to be protected?

007n7

- he's the first guy to catch you into the cabin unconscious in his perspective bed, he just stood there at the door, unknowingly of what to do, after a while, someone will come to check on him and then in shock as they see a child.

- ngl He was having a flashback where he had a baby c00lkid on his doorway in the middle of the night.

He's going to be a bit awkward after you wake up. He's not going to stay quite. Of course, he knows a thing or two about communicating with a child in this situation. He's going to ask how you got in here, with the obvious answer of no at all.

- This leads into a dead end, with unknown parents, why are you here, where were you the last time before you were here, all of the questions always end with you not remembering and can't be answered.

- he feels bad for you, awful even, he unknowingly is a bit protective of you because you remind him a bit of his missing son, just a little bit though.

- In rounds, he kinda ordered you to stay close to guest or shedletsky as they can protect you.

- if he ever see you hurt, his fatherly instinct kicking in and began to run at you place, picking you up then immediately teleport away, distance from the killer.

- he will scold you if you accidentally hurt yourself, or body blocking someone as he healed you with a medkit. (Where does the medkit come from?)

- He quietly signs an adoption paper without your knowledge, not that you actually mind, he thought.

- if you were a bit on the older side and on the rebellious phase, there will be a lot of arguing to the point you both don't talk to each other after awhile he will feel bad, but it depends on who's in the wrong, he will apologize to you.... With a take-out food.

Elliot

- see you after 007n7 sat you on the living room, asleep.

- he will look at 007n7 suspiciously, as he not trusting that man at all, especially when he suddenly has a kid in his bedroom. He may or may not lower down his distrust on him after an explanation...  key word: may.

- after you woke up, 007n7 slowly began to ask you a reasonable question, he watched from a distance as he realized that you began to feel overwhelmed. He sighed as he picked up some of his warm pizza, giving it to you.

- Being you, you gobble it in the second, feeling embarrassed because of your hunger. But he just laughed it off as his food is mouthwatering.

- In the round, he often took a look out at you if you were ever hurt and gave you a pizza to bust up your health.

- will feel bad for you if you tried to body block the killer when they targeted him, he immediately gives you a pizza afterwards. 

- If you have long hair, he will brush it off for you.

- good with kids actually, sometimes he helps a few kids from his workplace with fun activities.

- maybe he might have thought that you and his sister might get along.

Guest 1337

- damn he miss his family so much.

- You remind him of his family, his daughter more specifically.

- keep a very distant relationship with you unless it is necessary

- doesn't mind that you keep following him in rounds, as it's a benefit for both of you, you will fix a generator while he looks out for the killer.

-if you take a bit too long or you have a bit of a struggle, he tried to help you pinpoint the cable from where to where.

- will be in shock after your body blocked for someone, he pushed the killer and held you close to him while searching for a medkit or Elliot. He will tend your wound and begin to criticize you for your idiotic move ('then why are you bad at punching?' 'shut up.')

- won't talk to you for a while, not because he's mad at you, he's just frightened after what happened. Please just comfort him that you were fine at the end, he needs it.

-he may not be the closest, but he's there for you if you need to be protected.

Two time

- DON'T GET THEM CLOSE WITH A CHILD

-IT'S EITHER WE JOIN A CULT OR WE WILL BE THE SACRIFICE.

“The spawn would be pleased” they said as you're tied to the sacrificial altar.

c00lkid

- If he were in pre-forsaken, he would be your brother, you were both adopted by 007n7 as he found both of you on his doorstep.

- you both give him a headache and his beloved child at the same time.

-If you were in the forsaken, however... be prepared as you will be the first target he lays his eyes on.

- because in his mind you both are the same age, therefore you should be 'playing' together.

Azure (might be ooc)

- You appeared in his limbo. Leaving him startled as you were asleep behind his 'bed.'

- bro's already dislikes you for this particular reason.

- will get annoyed every time you play with his hat or him in general.

- don't trust you at all at least in the beginning, but after a while he just lets you do whatever you want with him. Draw with him? Sure, you want to play with his tentacles? he doesn't care, have a make over? Aight enough.

- If you do, however, have an interest in botany, he will give you a few advice, just don't ask where they get their knowledge of botany.

John Doe

- Like c00lkid, if it was from pre-forsaken, he would be the best father to you, he will help you do your homework, comfort you if you had a hard time, generally a good father and a good wife for your mom, Jane Doe.

- I have a head canon that he mastered the art of grilled meat that it could battle a god.

-If you were in Forsaken, good luck because he doesn't remember you that much.

-maybe he will slightly remember after you're dead, slightly.

[uyghurlanguagewatermelon]

This is quite cool, I've just tried and you can input any language even if it's not on the list. I love language learning methods that involve practical application of knowledge! I appear to be the only active Uyghur learner on there, but if you join then you'll likely have at least one Uyghur practice partner 😋

(please do your due diligence regarding privacy/security and the company behind the app too - after all you're downloading something to your phone)

Can I once again suggest the app Polygloss for language practice?

You watch with other users to describe and guess pictures and it theoretically supports all languages as long as there are active users. Especially if you're a minority language learner or speaker, spread the word to get fellow learners or community members signed up!

[amethystarachnid]

hiii could i please request some tony stark x reader headcannons or a drabble where reader is sick? i’ve had a really bad flu and could kinda use the pick me up 🤭

TONY STARK WHEN Y/N IS SICK - a Drabble

we all know this man is protective asf so, here's how he would act if you are sick:

The moment you sneeze once, Tony immediately pulls out a high-tech scanner and starts running a full-body diagnostic.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., is this the plague? Tell me it’s not the plague.”

He wears a fake doctor’s coat for the aesthetic. Possibly a stethoscope. Might even introduce himself as "Dr. Stark, Medicine Man Extraordinaire."

That being said, the man has zero actual medical knowledge. You catch him secretly Googling “how much vitamin C is too much” and “can you overdose on cough drops?”

He absolutely builds some ridiculous machine to monitor your temperature, even though a thermometer works just fine.

“Behold! The Stark Industries Flu Tracker™️!” It’s just an AI that yells at you to drink water every ten minutes.

Will not admit that he sat up all night watching you breathe just to be sure you were okay.

He burritos you in blankets so aggressively that you can barely move. If you protest, he just pats your head and says, “Shhh, this is for your own good.”

Acts like he hates being used as a pillow but absolutely thrives on it. “Fine, you can lay on me. But just so we’re clear, I expect a full recovery within 24 hours. My shoulder is not standard-issue medical equipment.”

He will hold you as long as you want, running his fingers through your hair and murmuring dumb things like, “You know, I should charge for this level of premium boyfriend care.”

If you fall asleep on him, he definitely stays still, even if his arm falls asleep, because he is soft for you and he knows it.

Randomly boops your nose but then makes a grossed-out face when you sneeze right after. “Okay, ew. That one’s on me.”

If you try to tell him to keep his distance so he doesn’t get sick, he scoffs. “Pfft. Please. I’ve survived explosions, space, and Steve Rogers’ moral lectures. A cold isn’t taking me out.”

…Cut to two days later, and he’s laying dramatically across your lap, whining about how you cursed him.

“I had a good run. Tell the world my story.”

The moment you start feeling better, he throws an unnecessarily fancy “Congratulations, You Survived” party.

Balloons. Confetti. A cake that says WELCOME BACK TO THE LAND OF THE LIVING.

“Now that you’re back to full power, let’s never do that again, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

thank god Tony chose to be a superhero and not a nurse/doctor I dont think he could handle it, also, hope you get well soon!! <3

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 150 (Inventing - or Reinventing? - Time Travel)

To research the possibilities of time travel, Felix Psyded, Esquire, and his girlfriend, Lilith Pleasant, had spent months at Laurel Library in Britechester. Emit's knowledge had proven helpful, but his device was too advanced for modern times and required materials yet to be discovered. They had a lot to learn, and often studied late into the evening.

These two - an attorney and a podcaster - knew next to nothing about programming or biometric sciences. But Lilith, especially, was determined to make a device to chase Emit's time thief, and Felix would stay by her side in any decade.

"I checked out a copy of A History of Time Travel like Ash suggested," she said eagerly. Felix quickly flipped her laptop to The Sims Archives, Volume 2, disguising the webpage he'd really been reading. "Are you enjoying the game? I didn't realize how much I missed playing it!"

He nodded absentmindedly, and Lilith noticed. She was about to raise the question when her twin sister, Angela, emerged from behind the bookshelves with a programming guide. "Geez, this stuff is difficult," she complained. "How are you planning to learn all this to make a time travel device?"

"Ash was taken with a faulty remote," explained Lilith. "He said we need to program it correctly or we might end up lost in time, but he's been a huge help on some things we just can't wrap our heads around."

"It's pretty crazy to let a nine-year-old help you build a device to jump through time. And how did he invent it already, because Emit's here, but not invent it yet at the same time?"

Lilith scowled at her twin. They'd been polar opposites since high school, and Lilith always felt a sense of moral superiority oozing from her earthy pastel pores. "Why are you even here, Angela? We didn't ask you for help."

"Excuse me for being interested!"

A librarian shushed them from somewhere beyond the tall rows of mahogany bookshelves, and Lilith leaned in to whisper. "You're not interested in the device, you're interested in Emit."

Angela caught herself before she let out a yowl, aghast at the suggestion. "A blue-haired time traveler? Please! Do I look desperate?"

Felix poked his head in gently, having built up a good relationship with Lilith's family. "No, but you look infatuated every time he's on TV. I don't blame you, really. He's polite, and he could well be handsome behind those sunglasses. He's mysterious; it's alluring!"

"Lil, if you're not careful, you're going to lose your boyfriend to Emit Relevart."

Lilith rolled her eyes and changed the subject as Angela huffed. "Ash thinks we need to look for something called a shard of time, which he first read about in Theoretical Electronics. He reads so fast, it's amazing! He says the shards are hard to spot, but if you look at something long enough, relax your mind, you'll see slight discoloration in an object. Once you see it, you can pick it up with your fingers. Ash said he found one on the toilet in his bathroom at home."

(This is Ash pondering time travel on the toilet for the quest points. I know it doesn't look like it but some of the event reward animations are sus or my game is broken. The actual books - Theoretical Electronics and A History of Time Travel - never appeared in Lilith's hands. That's why she's reading a violin skill book, which she picked herself when she was done reading the invisible books.)

"So you're going to go stare at toilets for a while?"

"Refrigerators, too," said Felix.

"This is so weird, you guys. Are you really serious about this?"

"After Felix is done work tomorrow, we're going back to Willow Creek to talk to Emit some more." Angela tried to stuff her hopeful expression and Lilith let out an exaggerated sigh. "Did you want to come with us?"

"Well...if you think I'd be helpful I'd be happy to-"

"Ange..." Lilith pursed her lips. She loved her sister, but she was always like this. "I said you could come and meet Emit. Don't act like it's a favour to me."

They made it to Willow Creek Park the next evening, where they found Emit still wandering the paths. He smiled and waved when he spotted the girls waiting for Felix near the public restroom. "Lilith Pleasant! I hoped you'd be back. Most of the gawkers have been unserious, and they don't come around as much now that the news cycle's moved on a little."

"We wouldn't know where to begin, but we've been getting help from someone...Does the name Ash Landgraab mean anything to you?"

After everything they'd learned about Ash's visit from the ghost of Marco, Lilith posed her question carefully. When Emit frowned, shaking his head, her shoulders dropped in relief. "Everyone's heard of the Landgraabs, but Ash Landgraab doesn't really ring a bell. Why?"

The sisters looked at each other. "When you're from, who invented time travel?"

Emit laughed as Felix joined them. "That's one of life's great mysteries! It's thought whoever invented it wanted - or needed - to be protected, so their identity was kept secret. When I was at the academy, there were rumours the inventor was a kid and that's why their name was never recorded, but some say people did know, and the inventor was well known once upon a time, but the truth was lost to history."

Felix chuckled. "Perhaps the truth was hidden by another time thief."

Lilith and Angela laughed with him, but Emit's face held a stern expression. "Time thieves aren't that funny. They could erase history as we know it if they try hard enough. Some days, my wristboard pings so often, each time they move to a new time, I can't possibly chase them alone. We're lucky the one we're dealing with is just dropping household furnishings all over the place. So far." He dropped his voice in an ominous tone. "But even that could break the strings holding time in place."

"Wow, you know so much!" Angela gushed at the blue-haired man, and he looked back to Lilith with a curious expression.

"Is this your clone?"

Lilith laughed, but Angela laughed louder. "This is my twin sister, Angela."

"It's nice to meet you, Angela."

They shared a sweet smile, and Lilith glanced knowingly at Felix. "We also wanted to ask you about shards of time," she said. "Where are the best places to look for them?"

Emit looked back to Lilith as though he'd forgotten she was there. "Shards? Oh shards! Sorry, our tech hasn't had to use shards for a long time. Shiny surfaces are best, but I suppose they could be anywhere, really, if you look long enough."

"That's what Ash said."

"This Ash sounds fascinating. I'd like to meet him, or his guardians, since you mentioned last time he's a child, didn't you? You're...you're not saying he's the one who invented time travel..."

"He hasn't yet," said Angela. "He's almost ten, but these two would probably be hopeless without him. He's the one who discovered the shards."

"A child Landgraab invents time travel? That is a headline!"

"His parents - at least his mother and his stepfather - don't want people hounding him the rest of his life."

"I don't blame them. It's important to protect children - even brilliant ones."

"Should you meet him some day, I think you'd be quite impressed by him," said Felix. "He's nothing like the rest of the Landgraabs."

Emit laughed. "What do you mean? The Landgraabs are incredible. They spent six billion simoleons to end global hunger and built the ship that stopped the asteroid. A Landgraab is president of Simlandia right now. Well, right where I came from."

Felix shared looks of surprise with Lilith and Angela. "Maybe Marco's stunt changed more than we thought," he mused.

Felix and Lilith paid attention to each other while Angela made small talk with Emit. But Emit seemed uninterested in her flirty advances, which he returned with friendly nods and turned glances.

Before they left him in the early hours of the morning, Felix gave him a burner phone so they could reach out if they had more questions. Emit took the untraceable phone willingly, glancing quickly at Angela before sending them home with polite goodbyes.

When they got back to the old three-story home they shared with Angela and her parents in Gibbs Hill, Lilith quickly went to bed. But Felix was mulling something over in his mind.

He tried reading, but his mind moved too fast to take in the paragraphs. When dawn finally broke and he left for work the next morning, he called his favourite grumpy police captain on the way.

"Hey. I know it's early, but I was wondering if you had a few minutes. I've got a problem I need to talk about..." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

Last shot is of Felix is his work attire and not on the phone with Conrad because I liked it. He is not without swagger!

NOTE: If you've played through the event, you know the story is diverging a bit from the strict tasks since Emit isn't the sole source of information for Lilix here. Also, Angela had that instant attraction to Emit and I want to see if I can see that through. Even though Emit is being very professional-adjacent about it, he accepted some of her flirts, but not all, so I gave it a rest before he got mad. But once again, I'm making something much bigger than it is for the sake of plot.

[user947468]

NSFW Alphabet - Arisu Ryohei

Hello! If you're from my Chishiya fic please look away, I am really deep in writers block and I thought this could be fun.. Warning this is fully explicit, if you're not into that please click off!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very, very gentle. He's scared that he hurt you in someway, or was too rough, or you would regret it immediately after- doesn't matter if you took the initiative or not. Despite being a borderline genius- he's not that knowledgeable in after care, but he tries his best. Cleaning you and himself up after with a wet rag, tissues, toilet paper- which ever was the most convenient at the time- and making sure you feel comfortable, asking if you need anything, ect, ect.. he loves your comforting praises after more than he would like to admit.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Arisu couldn't answer that question earnestly with a gun to his head. He didn't have a favorite, couldn't physically choose one. He was obsessed with everything about you, infatuated with every inch of your being- one moment he would ogle your thighs, than your waist, your chest, your lips, your eye's- yep, he would have to take the bullet. As for him.. well, they don't call them gamer fingers for nothing. He's a bit too proud of how long he can go without getting a hand cramp.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

When Arisu was young he was freaked out by it, thought it was dirty and inhuman- even though it subsided in his late high school years and his hormones were flying through the roof it was always a thought in the back of his mind. That's why it took him by complete shock when you asked him if he wanted to cum on your face, and how fast he came after the fact. He couldn't take his eye's off you after, having to shake himself out of his mind before he got hard again.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

While not major to most- Arisu would never admit to watching as much porn as he frequently does. He's an absolute porn-freak. One websites, apps, magazines- you name it, he's seen it. Oh, and he has a thing for keeping your underwear- which he would never tell you of course, or take without your permission!

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's not a virgin, while he doesn't have women throwing themselves at him left and right, he's not completely oblivious to the sex scene. And sure, he's watched it, and heard story's from his friends- but doing it is a whole other ball park.. its a good thing he's a fast learner. But there are still a good handful of thing he's yet to be introduced too.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything you want. Preferably position's he could fully watch you in, but if wanted to try something new Arisu was anything but picky. However, he does have a knack for missionary and cowgirl- he adores picking apart your reactions, how your head throws back when he fondles your breast, or when he sucks bruises into your neck and you follow up with a low moan.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Arisu always tries to make light of a situation with humor. Especially during your first few nights together; if he feels like the silences are too prolonged he'll tell a joke, or when you make a move and all he can do is let out a nervous giggle- its adorable in hindsight, although you know he hates when he reacts like a untouched-virgin.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Nicely trimmed, not too short, not too long. Before you, he would never give shaving a second glance. After all why would he need too? No one was going to see him there anyways. It was on your first date that he bashfully decided to keep himself more well groomed, for your sake.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Nervous, of course. He's overly sensitive, hyper-aware of everything going on- and you wouldn't have it any other way. He's takes his time, making sure you know how much you mean to him every step of the way- whether is be by his words, or his hands, or his tongue..

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He surprisingly has a higher sex drive than you would think. He could go one after the other after the other.. he only needs a few length breaks in between before he's back on track! His record was four in one day- which he only counted because of a stupid, and completely childish bet with Karube and Chota.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Arisu never gave thought to power play, especially being titled the submissive one- and maybe it was just you that provoked it in him-but when you first climbed on-top of him, whispering borderline pornographic praises in his ear- moving his hands where you wanted them, refusing to let him cum to early- he knew he would do anything you asked, and you knew it too.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom- preferably yours. Covered completely by you; your clothes, your perfume, your bed sheet.. he's not one to venture off, especially while still living with family. Although his guard does lower in the borderlands, he'll do it anywhere he deems safe enough for you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Everything. Nothing. Someday's he could see you in a skimpy bathing suit and all he can think is how beautiful your eyes are or how much he adores your laugh. Other days he can get hard in an instant if you look at him a certain way- mind twirling with different images of you- you under him, on-top of him, him between your legs...

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything to hurt you is an absolute no. Blood, knifes, scratch marks- there all no-go's. He's even hesitant to use degrading nicknames. Although he wouldn't mind mild restrains or gags of some sort, on him of course. And don't even think about calling him daddy, he will gag.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves both! Want to give him a blowjob? His pants are already coming off. You asked him to eat you out? He's on his knee's in seconds. Although he love's you warm mouth and curious tongue- nothing beats being between your legs. Tasting you, smelling you- don't even get him started on you tightening your thighs around his head, keeping him in place while you ride out your orgasm.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Most of the time Arisu likes to keep it slow and sensual, covering every conceivable inch of you in small kisses and following your shape with gentle wandering hands. Once in a while he'll get caught up in bliss, pace radical and tight grips- but he'll apologies immediately after, brushing your hair out of the way and asking if your okay- you always are.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not his favorite, he enjoys cherishing every moment with you, every whimper and shutter of yours graved into his mind- but there not half bad in his opinion. He has morning wood but a class in fifteen minutes? If your up for it, he is too. After all he would be a fool to not take the chance up.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

If it's nothing too crazy, like almost sadistic, he'll try anything once if it makes you happy. Arisu has no problem stepping out of his comfort zone for you, matter of fact doing introduced him to things he would have never known he was into. Although you'll have to slowly get through his shy demeanor at first.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a loser-gamer with a porn addiction... yeah he's not lasting long at all! But he does really, really, try to hold off when you ask him too, after all he doesn't want to disappoint you. Either way he makes up for it by offering a second round, he'll need a second to recharge but as soon as you start leaving kisses down his neck it's go time!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

Would he ever by himself? Absolutely not. Even if he wanted too, he'd be too embarrassed to go out and buy one- hell, he wouldn't even want the charge on his card. Besides a fleshlight - which was a joke gift Karube got him for his birthday, "I knew you'd love it!" he said, watching Arisu's face turn the brightest shade of red any ones every seen- Arisu's never once owned a sex toy on his own account. Until he meet you. It started off innocent enough- cheeky lingerie, strawberry lube, clit vibrators- than you turned the vibrators on him and introduced him to male sex toys.. he was sure his brain chemistry changed after the fact.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You would say he's a tease, he would say he's making sure every inch of you doesn't go unappreciated. He really doesn't mean too, and when ever he notices you getting aggravated or huffy for more friction, he gives you a sly smile and ask's you what you want him to do to you. When said, he jumps straight into action.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Arisu really tries to hold it in, truly, with all his might - but he's just naturally loud. And you would be lying if you said he wasn't good at it. Every whimper, moan, grunt, and curse could be heard from the man, none of his reactions going unnoticed. He didn't shy away from being verbal either, much to your delight.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

This man is most love-struck fool ever. And that leads to a lot of desperation on his end, especially while your away. How dare you treat him so good? Give him the most live changing orgasm than leave to your collage classes thirty minutes latter? The amount of things he's rubbed himself off too because of it was shameful; your voicemail, a small note you left him on a sticky note, the smell of your shampoo..

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Arisu was an average length, 6 and a half inches long - he swear the half inch makes a huge difference - and a width of an inch and a half, lean like the rest of his body. Pale pink and a strong veins coming from his shaft, they were always the most sensitive- along with his tip of his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He could do without getting off everyday. Sleeping through it or taking a cold shower if necessary, and he never beg you into anything you weren't in the mood for but it's safe to say it doesn't take long to get him in the mood.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As much as his hormones love raging off the charts- his physical athleticism slows him down. Generally he could fall asleep anywhere, anyplace in seconds- but plus being physically and mentally tired? He's already in a deep sleep. (After after-care, of course) Good luck trying to wake him up!

[afroskykid]

So I've been thinking Danny right he's out here having his " live,love,laugh hot girl, hot rod,cultivation summer right" what if he was in svsss right around when shin jui and Yue are still young slaves and, we all know since he is a realms ghost he can dense amounts of emotion so he goes and scoops up the all the slaves and goes eldritch on the slave owners like not kill. Nut they ain't gonna be the same at the least they will terrified of the night sky at the they become veggies because their brain is basically soup now. Back on track so he has the slaves and frees them and sends them to like maybe amity park or a different kingdom but then he takes shen jui and Yue to cang qui peak sect via tesseract like in a wrinkle in time I think that would be fun because I mean more knowledge better the cultivation and your traveling through the seams of the world you're everywhere and know where at the you are the world the your back to a single individual how would that effect your cultivation I mean sure the human brain can't contain the amount of information but a immortal soul could what is a golden but a mortal ghost core it surrounds the soul. They may not know the information, but they do have a feeling. That's all i have. Someone, please use this 🙏 😭 😔 😫

Weird/Unusual Crossover time?

Weird/unusual crossover time! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ (oh shit~! She's back on her billshit!) (That's RIGHT! Nothing is sacred and NO ONE IS SAFE!)

ANYWAYS~

Danny Phantom. Cultivation Novels (my current obsession). A match made in hell? Or an exciting new adventure‽ Cause like... the Zone DOES go EVERYWHERE, right? Infinite means Infinite means "Literally Without End" Infinite.

As in, Forever.

You COULD, in fact, pick a direction and just... keep going. Forever. For always. Without end or limits. The Zone is not just "really, REALLY big and we need a word your mind could comprehend." Not "as big as a galaxy or the known universe". It is? On a scale that even GODS can not comprehend.

The place GODS go to die. A place they are BORN from. The great primordial soup where universe end and begin anew. Where the cracks are glued backed together, and the souls of the living flow in and out. Endless scraps of fabric, realities, atop a churning sea of green. Keeping everything even.

After all... you can't CREATE a soul. They got to come from SOMEWHERE. Where do you THINK they arrive from? When populations grow? Thin air‽

But... ah~, there in lays the rub, doesn't it? Would knowing the Zone? Knowing SOME of it's mysteries and machinations (for NO ONE, not even all the Ancients COMBINED, can ever claim to understand even a fraction of them all.) mean that Danny??? Was powerful in a Cultivation reality?

He's certainly a powerful GHOST.

But?? They FIGHT ghosts all the time. Wouldn't he be WEAKER and more in danger? As they try to hell the restless spirit move on? Not knowing he is balanced between life and death? They could very well kill him.

Which, given the moral standards of the Realm? Would NOT be viewed as a bad thing.

But! On the OTHER hand?

He is a ZONE ghost. Not a simple spirit. Far beyond what they are used to dealing with. Arguably? ASCENDANT. From a higher plane of existence. A lower one. Several steps to the side. He is, for all intents and purposes, shrimp colors to the human eye. The color blue to a blind man. An orb to the two dimensional.

CAN he even interact with the world's cultivation systems? Does it recognize him as a god? A dead man? Some sort of ascendant dead god?

Something... Not Right™

Yet still utterly natural? Clearly not meant to be here. Yet... not wicked. Granted, not, perhaps, benevolent. But...

Because what IS he? Is he a boy? A man? A corpse? Immortal, perhaps? Is this creature a demon? The resentful dead? They DONT KNOW! It... probably scares a lot of them. Makes some of them think he is a test. Probably makes OTHERS wanna fight (friend? Hey! New friend!).

And like? Why would Danny even BE there? He's already immortal. The swords are pretty cool... but he has Fenton tech.

So, WHY?

I propose?

His well know Anger Issues. His fear of becoming Dan. He's heard meditation is good for shit like that, right? Mindfulness and stuff. Sam recommended it. And? They were watching Fantasy Kung-fu 17, "bamboo monks of vengeance" (now with more slow motion aerial battles). So he was like? Hmmmm... those misty valleys and mountains shots DO looks relaxing... I could go camping...

Maybe find a mysterious old kung-fu monk? Is that what they are? Tucker. Tucker! What's the name of this genre again? Xanxia. Yeah. That! I'll do the whole "live, laugh, love. Hot girl, cultivation summer" thing! That'll fix my shit! This is a GREAT idea!

Thus? Danny. Terrorizing some poor Xanxia Cultivation world with his Zone Ghostiness. Pretending to be a human... very, VERY badly. Yes, hello Fellow Locals! It is him! Average Human Man! Take me to your *checks notes* Cultivation Sect! *smiles with far too many teeth*

#nailedit he's gonna get SUCH a good job at blending in! A thing that is both real and possible to achieve!

@babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @mayfay @hdgnj @spidori @the-witchhunter @leftnotright @lolottes

[dearru]

princess treatment | a.miya

-> pairing: miya atsumu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: reader wears makeup, u guys r flirty asf, i wrote this in a trance so it’s not proofread | wc: 849 | genre: fluff | mlist

-> synopsis: doing your boyfriend’s makeup and the other things that follow…

“Tsumu! Stop squirming.” 

Your hand rests firmly on his jaw, keeping him still. Gripping the sharp ridge of his face for leverage, you carefully apply eyeliner along your boyfriend’s lid. Atsumu's breath is warm against you, and his cheeks are tinged pink from the blush you’d placed on him moments before. Beneath your grip, you feel him twitching against your rigid touch.

“But it feels weird.” He whines, twitching, fighting the urge to break free. Pouting, his eyes dart to yours. “Can’t believe ya roped me into doin’ this.” 

You giggle, repositioning yourself in his lap. The pen is poised in your hand as you lean in to continue your skillful strokes. His breath hitches as you do so, and you revel in the power you have over him. 

“Almost done.” You coo, “I swear.” 

Finishing the last touch of eyeliner, you hum in delight at your handiwork and reach across the way for gloss. Atsumu’s lips curl in disgust and he jerks his head away.  

“Yer not puttin’ that on me.” 

Scoffing, you ignore his protests and untwist the cap. “Stop being a baby. You love it when I wear this stuff.” 

“Yeah, key-word: you.” He reasons, groaning in indignation, “I gotta stop lettin’ you talk me into doin’ weird shit.” 

“Men wearing lipgloss is not weird.” You giggle, pressing against him as you inch closer to his face. Your hands wave the applicator in front of him enticingly to no avail as he continues to look at the object like it’s a threat.  

“C’mon.” You sing, voice honeyed. “If you’re good– I’ll give you a reward.” 

His brows raise, curiosity painting his features. Body language changing in an instant, he puckers his lips dramatically in your direction. 

“Why didn’t ya tell me that before?” He says, eyes glistening with a bright mirth. His lips morph from puckered to a dopey grin as if he can’t help but smile at the thought of his reward. “If ya had, it would’ve made this process a lot easier.” 

“Would it have?” You hum, coyly. Pleased by the obliging mood he’s now in, you tilt his chin up and brush the gloss over his full lips with deliberate care. When you pull away, he poses, and you throw your head back in a hearty laugh. 

You wrap your hands around his shoulders and shudder at the feeling of them– broad and sturdy in your grasp. In the still of the moment, you let yourself drink him in. 

He looks really good. 

His striking features are cut by the softness of the makeup. The streaks of contour and glossy lips compliment him and make him look unreal. Your heart swells from the knowledge that only you could have enough sway to do this to him. 

To have and to hold Atsumu like this is a pleasure that belongs only to you.  

“You’re so pretty like this.” You murmur, thumb tracing his bottom lip. The gloss smudges from your touch, but you think he looks better when he’s a little messy. 

His nose scrunches. “I hate when ya call me pretty. Say I’m handsome, or somethin’ like everyone else.” 

 Despite the playfulness of the moment, there’s a slight tremor in his breath that feels so intimate your knees shake. There’s a tenseness in his shoulders that hints at the impact of your compliment. It fills your stomach with something warm and greedy. 

“But I love calling you pretty.�� You grin, trying to stay composed as his strong arms snake around your waist and pull you taut against him. Hand moving to touch his chest, you gaze longingly into his eyes. “Especially when you have makeup on. It makes me want to give you the princess treatment.” 

He whistles, hands rubbing up your sides. You’re in such close proximity that you can just catch how the rise and fall of his chest speeds up when he receives the compliment. 

Eyes darkening, he hums thoughtfully. “And what’s the princess treatment?” 

You don’t reply. Leaning in, you capture his lips in a slow, sticky kiss. He grunts at the feeling and immediately deepens it, instantly stealing the domineering role from you. The dissonance between his aggressive movements and the taste of the strawberry gloss sends shivers down your spine. 

You pull away before it gets too heated, and he groans, chasing after your lips. 

“Stop fuckin’ with me.” He mewls, staring at you like a distressed child being denied his favorite toy. “I hate bein’ teased.”  

“I’m not.” You purr, one hand tracing his chest while the other reaches for your back pocket where your phone resides. “I just want a picture of you in your makeup before we mess it up too much.” 

Before you can open the camera app, his hand grabs your wrist. 

“Who’re ya gonna show that picture to?” He probes, whiney.

Your lips quirk up, “No one. It’s for my personal collection.” 

His eyes narrow before sighing and releasing you from his hold. 

“Yer so weird.” He huffs, but the soft blush on the tips of his ears and the warm affection in his eyes tell you that he doesn’t really mind.

—a/n: he’s just ur silly, loser, whiney bf guys how could u hate him…

[maskedcrawford]

Hidden Secrets

G-Dragon x Reader ft. Song Kang

Summary: Tensions rise with Jiyong's insecurities, you make a move that hurt's him, and you must learn how to maneuver in the world with a new dynamic.

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Rest assured I have a plan. Trust the process. <3 Chapter 6 will be out as soon as I get it typed and proof read!

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 5- Mistakes and Heartbreak

Over the next two months, you and Jiyong grow closer than ever before, and you weren’t even sure it was possible. But all good things come to end, don’t they?

“Hey, my love,” you sing as you walk through the door of your shared home. Jiyong is on the couch and grunts with slightly raised brows staring at his phone. You set the shopping bags down on the table in front of him and try to playfully peal his phone from his hands.

“Quit!” You pull back quickly at his snappy tone. He cuts his eyes at you briefly before returning his gaze to the screen.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” He sighs and looks at you, his eyes full of malice.

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” he gets up and walks to his room; the door slam echo’s through the house. You stay there for a moment, processing what just happened. You slowly get up and put your bags in your room. You then turn to go into Jiyong’s room, but when you try to turn the knob the door is locked.

“Aein,” you call out as you tap on the wood.

“Can you just leave me alone for a bit?” His tone is harsh and you're so confused.

“Someone’s on their period,” you joke to yourself.

Jiyong had been stressed from work and seeing you in the news with Song Kang recently. You had met him when you were at a party with Jiyong last month and he had asked if you would mind to run lines with him for an upcoming audition. You told Jiyong and he said he didn’t mind, that he trusted you. But the two of you quickly bonded and became close friends. Now the media is running with a story that you two could be seeing each other romantically. None of this was in your realm of knowledge as you didn’t watch the news and didn’t pay attention to magazines or online gossip.

You spend the evening alone while Jiyong is holed up in his room. You tried calling him for dinner but he didn’t answer. You set a plate of food outside his door and knocked to let him know it was there if he wanted it. You went to your room and shut the door.

He was going slightly crazy.

Is this why she didn’t want the public to know, in case she found someone else? She would’ve told me if she wasn’t happy, right? Did I do something? The thoughts buzzed in his head like an angry bee. He really thought you two were ok until this. That things had gotten better. But now he fears he’s wrong. He hears your knock on his door again and then hears the door to your room open and shut. He opens his own it revealing his dinner and a drink. He smiles slightly to himself. He picks it up and see’s a note underneath it.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here if you want to talk. Please don’t shut me out, even if I can’t help, I can listen <3 xoxo – your girl

He grips the paper, crumpling it up and he knows if he talks to you now he won’t be very nice about it. He takes his dinner and shuts his door. Meanwhile you are in your room talking to Song Kang on the phone.

“Hey,” he answers cheerfully.

“Hey,” you offer a half smile to no one, trying to make your tone sound cheery, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just, I’m just down.” You lie straight through your teeth.

“You know you can talk to me,” he offers.

“I know, but there’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to call and see how the audition went.”

“I got the part, thanks to your amazing help,” his tone was friendly, a little too friendly but you didn’t read into it. You offer him a giggle.

“Congrats! If Jiyong would stop being so moody, we could go out and celebrate!” you wince as you realize you let an intimate detail slip to another guy.

“Moody? What’s going on?” you sigh, too late to lie now.

“I don’t know, Kang, it’s like he doesn’t even want to see me. He snapped at me when I got home.”

“For what?”

“I genuinely have no idea,” you confess.

“He won’t talk to me long enough to tell me.” You pause for a moment, “But I shouldn’t bore you with this,” you trail off.

“No, no it’s not a bore, I honestly didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“We’re actually dating,” you say shyly.

“And he’s treating you like that," he scoffs before continuing with a slightly prideful tone, "Man if you were my girl,” he trails off and the conversation goes silent for a moment.

“So, you’ve been thinking about me being your girl?” you tease him and he laughs awkwardly.

“Actually, yeah, I-I have,” he admits and your jaw drops slightly. You had no idea he liked you like that.

“Oh, um,” you hear a knock on your door.

“Hang on a sec,” you say as you get up off the bed and open it to see Jiyong standing there.

“Who’s that?” he mouths and you put your finger up.

“Kang? Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You press the end call button and meet a pair of angry dark eyes.

“Song Kang? Really, y/n?” He walks away like he’s going back into his room and you grab his arm.

“Hey, what the hell is with you, we’ve been doing fine, great even, and now all of a sudden, you’re pissed at me and won’t talk to me? I want to know why. What did I do?” His eyes dart between yours and he bawls his fists.

"I can't fix anything if I don't know what I did wrong, Jiyong," you try to reason with him.

“Why don’t you just call Kang back, hmm? It seems I interrupted something important,” he feigns a considerate tone.

“No you didn’t, now if you’d quite being a dick and talk to me maybe we can figure something out.”

“Go figure out something with Kang,” he spits. Your pull your head back in confusion and then it hits you.

“You’re jealous of him?” you ask surprised. He shakes his head with a scoff.

“I’m not jealous,” he starts but can’t finish.

“Then what’s the problem with me talking to Kang,” you cross your arms.

“He likes you, y/n, and I don’t like it. Not at all.” He shakes his head and remember the confession he made.

“Well, it’s not exactly his fault, he didn’t know we were dating.”

“Didn’t? You told him?” He quirks his brow.

“Yeah, just now, actually.” His face softens a little.

"Why did you need to tell him?" he asks his voice filled with suspicion.

"Well, he, uh, he told me that he'd been thinking about me," you trail off and that earns a scoff from Jiyong.

"It's not like anything happened, Ji." you say annoyed, "Wait is that what you think?" your tone is more offended now.

“Have you seen the articles?” he asks pointedly.

“What articles? You know I don’t pay attention to that stuff.” He sighs and pulls out his phone. He shows you the article with pictures of you and Song Kang out at a local market, which you had been to so you could grab something he needed for his audition and you were running lines with him at the time. Then there was a picture of you leaving his house, again to help him run lines. You never questioned why it never was anyone else that it seemed he’d ask, but you also didn’t read into it.

“Song Kang and a new love interest? Song Kang and his girl y/n l/n. Is Song Kang y/n’s new Muse?” he reads out and you sigh, pulling the phone away from his face.

“Why didn't you just tell me this,” you ask frustrated, but trying to gracious.

“I,” he sighs and rubs a hand down his face.

“I got so upset I assumed the worst.” That strikes a chord in you.

“Wait you really thought I would do that to you?” you take a step back from him.

“I just feared,” he begins.

“That I’d leave you for him? That I’d go fuck him and leave you here wondering where I’m at? That I’d cheat on you?” You become more outraged by the minute.

“Kwon Jiyong after all we’ve been through that’s what you think of me? You think that’s the kind of person I am?” He looks at you apologetically.

“It wasn’t,”

“Have I given you any reason to distrust me?”

“You did call Steve when you got mad at me,” he says quietly and you holler a sarcastic laugh.

“Don’t you even fucking go there with me. First of all, you said we were good. We talked and that it was over for both of us. Second that was months ago, we weren’t even together and neither of us knew how much we lov-,” you stop dead in your tracks and his ears perk up at you. You had only said the words once, when you first got together, but it still was a word with so much meaning and you don't want to throw it around.

“Neither of us knew how much we cared about each other,” you start again, “Third, it’s not like we were having issues! Things were so good,” you almost whine out the last sentence as you think of the romantic dates and sweet moments you had shared. The sweet at home date nights and movie nights where you would lay blankets out and watch a movie on a projector on his ceiling or wall. The way he'd hold you during it. The romance and genuine intimacy of it all.

“If that’s really how you think I’d treat you, why are we together?” you ask him after a moment of silence. His own insecurities got the better of him at times, and now it sounds as if it could cost him your relationship.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he tries to defend.

“It must be, because if you did you would’ve talked to me about this instead of snapping at me and then trying to shut me out. You do this every time something is wrong. When are you going to learn I’m a safe place for you? God, Jiyong,” he winces at the use of his name. You never really use his full name unless you’re upset.

“If you trusted me then you’d of come to me and tried to talk,”

“I was afraid you were going to leave,” he interrupts.

“And yet, here we are. So you don't trust me or the faith I have in our relationship.” You storm back into your room and slam the door.

“Y/n,” he calls after you and you sit against the door for a moment, he tries to open it but you push it closed on him.

“Y/n, I don’t want you to go,” he says through the door.

“You don’t want to talk when there’s problem’s either, Jiyong. I refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t even talk to me when he’s upset. I’ve done nothing but be loyal to you, except for the one time you can’t seem to let go of,” you say with tears pricking your eyes, it's not like the was the only one, but you had forgiven it and you were trying to move on from it. For the most part, you did. Your heart was shattering, but you've had enough. With the way you two started off and now he’s acting the same way again, it’s looking like nothing but a cycle; one you refuse to be apart of. You grab a suitcase and start packing. You shove your clothes, phone charger and shoes in it and you open the door to see him still standing there. He looks at the suitcase in your hand and his eyes grow wide.

“Wait, you’re actually leaving? Where are you going to go?” His tone is fearful.

“Maybe I’ll stay with Kang, he seems to be fond of me.” You sass and his eyes look scared, but he hides it with fierce anger and jealousy.

“Fine, go stay with him, but if you walk out that door we are done.” He says as he watches you walk toward the door.

This is what you were afraid of, that you would lose him and you wouldn’t be able to recover. But you were hurting being with him too. You take your phone out and dial Kang right there in front of Jiyong.

He stands there as you put the phone up to your ear and if looks could kill, you’d both be dead on impact. He hears your voice all too fake and cheery.

“Kang? Hey, listen can I stay at your place tonight?”

“Really? You’re a doll, thanks. I’m on my way now,” you cut your eyes at him.

“Y/n,” he warns.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’ve been over. You shouldn’t be with someone you don’t trust, and you clearly don’t trust me. So since you’re all but coming out and accusing me of sneaking around with him, I think I’ll just go and do it. That way it isn’t an accusation anymore.”

“Y/n, if you leave,” he sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re done for good. There’s no coming back, there’s no ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I didn’t mean it’. We’re done forever.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Your mouth slightly parts in shock at his words. But your mind says it’s time, despite your hearts pleas.

“Jiyong, if you don’t trust me, then there’s no reason to be together.” Your voice is solemn, your heart is thumping out of your chest. You turn to face the door.

“I’ll come get the rest of my things tomorrow,” you say as you barely look over your shoulder. You hear his footsteps come up behind you and as you open the door, he shuts it his hand and turns you to face him. His eyes are pleading with you not to go, he cups your face with his hands and kisses you deeply. You kiss him back and sigh into it. You separate and he gives you a soft smile thinking you’re going to stay.

“Goodbye, Jiyong,” you say as your voice cracks during his name and you turn to walk out. You shut the door behind you and get in your car. You let out a loud scream as your tears flow freely and your heart physically feels as if it’s being broken into a million tiny pieces.

Inside Jiyong is on his knees staring at the door with tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Why did he keep hurting you? He didn’t mean to, why couldn’t you see things from his perspective? He didn’t want you to leave, but between begging and threatening, he didn’t know which was the better option. He's left wandering if you were always doomed to fall apart.

------------

You get to Kang’s house, obviously an emotional mess. He opens the door and his face softens to your broken state. He moves past the doorway and allows you inside.

“What the hell happened?” Kang wasn’t necessarily upset that you were here, but he didn’t like the fact that you were upset. You went to speak but just broke down in tears again. You sink to the floor as the sound of pain and heartache fills his apartment. He comes over to hold you, doing anything he can to make you feel better.

“Hey, hey, come on, talk to me.” He strokes your hair. You want to, but right now you can’t, not really.

“It-it hu-hu-hurts,” you grab at your chest as you hiccup and you start crying all over again. This was it; Kwon Jiyong has ruined you like you knew he could. And the worst part is you felt like it was all your fault. You knew better. You should’ve stayed friends, you never should’ve hooked up and you never should’ve put a label on it.

He rocks you back and forth as you hug onto his neck. His heart genuinely broke for you, he hated seeing such a lively and beautiful soul be so broken.

After a little while you finally calm down and you sit on his couch explaining what happened.

“He really gave you an ultimatum?” He’s shocked by your story. You nod as another lone tear makes its way down your cheek. He goes to scoot in behind you, to hold you and you let him. You lean against his chest and the tension of the room is thick. You stare at each other for a minute and just as Kang barely inches forward you clear your throat.

“Can we watch a movie? I really want to take my mind off all this.” He gives a semi forced smile to your question.

“Sure, you can pick one out. I’ll grab some snacks.” You pick a comedy, maybe it’ll ease the pain and tension.

Back at home, or what you used to call home, Jiyong is stunned. He’s picked himself off the floor and flopped on his bed on his back, listening to the stillness of the house. He suddenly lets out a scream of frustration before getting up and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. He plays a drinking game by himself. The rules? Anytime you cross his mind he takes a shot. It makes it a lot easier when he starts to pack up your things for you.

It's not long until he’s drunk, close to blacking out. Yet the alcohol can’t numb the pain. He ultimately drinks until he can’t think about you, or anyone else for the night.

Back at Kang’s house you two are in the middle of laughing at the movie you picked; your heart still hurts and you wish it could be like this with Jiyong. As much as it hurt, you missed his presence. His arms being around you and gentle kisses on the back of your neck when you’d cuddle, you could still almost feel the ghost of his touch on you, and for a moment you imagined you were back home with him. Like nothing happened and things were still ok. But reality hit you once more when Kang let out a belly laugh. You snap your head at him and he’s popping some popcorn in his mouth, eyes glued to the tv.

“You got anything to drink?” you ask suddenly. He tears his eyes from the tv to you.

“I got Soju, Vodka, Hennessy, pick your poison.”

“Can I get Vodka and Hennessy?” He looks at you surprised.

“You sure you can handle both?” he smirks as you shake your head.

“All right, ladies’ choice,” he says cautiously. Before you know it, your feeling warm and fuzzy, buzzed from the drinks. And Kang feels the same. He wouldn’t dare let you drink alone.

“You know,” he slurs as he pulls you into his lap so you straddle his waist. You giggle.

“He really should’ve trusted you,” he downs another shot. You match him every time.

“It’s not like I gave him any,” you hiccup, “reason not to, I mean he acted like we’d slept together.” You hiccup again and then a giggle slips out.

“Hell, by the way he accused me, I should’ve done it. At least then he would’ve had a reason to freak out,” you take another shot and wrap your arms around his neck and lean in close to him, your breath a strong sent of the two drinks you were downing. Kang looks at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Maybe you should,” he mumbles. You tilt your head, confused.

“Maybe I should what?”

“Maybe you should stay here, be with me and let me take care of you,” he says quietly. He suddenly seems more sober and you feel your buzz come down some.

“I um,” you look away and he brings his face back to where you look at him.

“Just tell me to stop and I will,” he whispers just before putting his lips on yours. You freeze for a moment, Jiyong’s memory heavy in your mind again. You push it away and let your body give in to the temporary comfort Kang is willing to provide.

-------

The next morning, you wake up tangled in Kang’s bed sheets, naked underneath them.

“Oh my god,” you groan quietly as you see him next to you, also naked. You rub your face and quietly slip out of bed, sliding on your clothes from last night. You check your phone half expecting to see some text from Jiyong, almost hoping to, but nothing is there. You’re disappointed, hurt even. You weren’t sure that he really meant what he said. You thought maybe he was mad and just said it to try and get you to stay. You sigh and head to the kitchen, head pounding from a hangover. You grab a granola bar from his cabinet and some medication.

You dial Jiyong’s phone and he doesn’t pick up. You shoot him a text.

Coming over at 10 to get my things.

You hit send and wait for him to respond, but he doesn’t. Part of you is worried about him, maybe he drank last night like you did. You started freaking out internally and decided you couldn’t wait. You left Kang a note saying you would be back and you grabbed your keys.

You arrive at Ji’s place and see his car is still there.

“At least he didn’t drive” you think to yourself.

“Ji?” you call out as you open the door. You walk in and see the house is a mess. There’s broken glass in the kitchen, magazines on the floor, some torn to shreds. There’s plates and other dishes broken in the sink and on the living room floor.

“Jiyong?” you call out again, getting no response.

“Oh, my God Jiyong,” you say in shock as you see him on the floor of the living room. He looks unconscious.

“Ji? Jiyong?” You frantically pat his face and shake his body. He doesn’t budge.

“I swear,” you say out of fear as you reach into your bag and get a mirror. You put it under his nose and see it fog up. At least he’s alive. You get up, a little less panicked, and get a glass of cold water. You throw it in his face and he wakes up.

He looks around and see’s you standing over him.

“What the hell,” he groans.

“You scared me, that’s what,” you say as you help him up, he’s wobbly, still a little drunk.

“How much did you drink last night,” you ask trying to help steady him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” his breath reeks of it as he pushes you off him. Yeah, that stings, bad. You purse your lips.

“Why are you here, anyway. I told you if you left last night,”

“That we're done for good, yeah I know. I have things here I need to get.”

“I could’ve dropped them off or at least put them outside.” He says getting another shot.

“Jiyong it’s not even 10 am and considering you were passed out when i got here, no you couldn't have,” you scold and he gives you a death glare.

“You fuck to deal with the pain and I drink. So what?” His tone is venomous. You bite back tears as you scoff and he raises a brow at you just before downing his shot. He walks over to you, backing you up against the wall by the archway of the kitchen.

“You’re really going to act like you didn’t fuck him last night?” his voice is dangerously low, his face is inches from yours. He moves your hair out of the way revealing a hickey on your neck that wasn’t there 24 hours earlier.

He sneers and can’t help the deprecating laugh that emits from his vocal chords.

“You’re too damn predictable baby, tell me, how many times were you with him before you actually left me, hmm?” Before he can process what’s happening, he feels a sting on his cheek.

“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk,” you push him away feeling a light sting on your hand as you go to the back studio. You notice most of your stuff is all ready packed up for you in bags. The painting of you and Ji still sitting on the easel he bought for you a couple days after you moved in. You feel the tears prick your eyes as you look at it. You bite your lip as your hand runs over itl feeling the texture of the canvas and the raised paint splatters. Jiyong sneaks into the door way, watching you. He stared at the painting for what felt like forever last night, he debated on destroying it, all of it really. Everything you ever made, but if he did that he’d be like Steve and despite your screwed up relationship, he wouldn’t be like Steve, at least not in that way.

“You can take everything but that painting,” he says causing you to jump.

“It’s my painting.” You retort.

“I’ll pay you whatever you want for it.” You scoff at him, and he leans against the door frame, a deadpan look on his face.

“I’m serious. How much?”

“Its not for sale.”

“Everyone has a price,” you scoff at his words.

“Why do you even want it,” his face softens before he hardens it again.

“Something to remember you by,” his voice drips with sarcasm.

“I’m serious why do you want it,” you cross your arms.

“Because, it shows your true colors,” he sasses and you roll your eyes.

“The red and orange, the fiery passion I hold within myself. The blue and gray the way you always play the victim, baby.” He sneers again.

“It’s so, us." His laugh is villainous.

“You want it so bad, it’s 2, 921, 460,060.00 won.”  (That’s 2 million dollars for my U.S readers)

He nods his head, “Cool I’ll write you a check,” he says casually. He grabs his check book and writes it down.

“Cash it today, heck I’ll take you there myself.”

“There’s no way that thing is worth this much,” you look at him trying to figure out his goal.

“Oh, to me, it’s priceless,” his smile is plastic, and you give up trying to figure it out. With that you grab your things from the art room and put them in the car. You go to what used to be your room and see everything in boxes.

“Couldn’t even let my body heat leave the room before he packed me up,” you think to yourself. Truth be told, this hurt more than if you had to do it yourself. This was like Jiyong saying he was completely and forever going to be done with you. That he was ready for you to leave. Part of you wondered if any of it was just for show.

“Need any help?” his voice cuts through the tension you feel like a knife. You shake your head no.

“I’m good,” you say quietly.

“Whatever,” he says casually. He goes back to the kitchen to finish off the bottle of liquor he opened a little while earlier. He was dying inside. Seeing you here, obvious signs you’d been with someone else the way you had been with him. It ate him up inside. It was almost too much. He sighed before downing the last shot watching you carry out a box. He had to stick to his guns. He made you a promise and he intended on keeping it, maybe it was to punish you, or maybe, just maybe, it was to punish himself.

If you enjoyed and want to support me, buy me a coffee

Tags: @loveesiren @natalicss @mashtatosworld @nerdydoll-com @fleabagspurplewife @multifanxtvshows

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Love You More Than Anything

@beef-brisket

In the beginning there was the Garden of Eden that housed the first humans, Adam and Lilith. They were each other's equals and meant to be each other's spouses.

But they did love each other and Lilith wanted to control Adam. Upset he fled the garden to be alone and figure out what he really wanted.

That's when he met the Seraphim Angel, Sera. She was intrigued by the strong willed human and had come to care for him like a mother would a child. She cared for him and taught him things but there was only so much he could understand.

Wanting more for the man she considered a son, Sera plucked an apple from the tree of knowledge to give him the forbidden fruit.

But things went so wrong so fast, Lilith and her new husband Evan were also given the fruit and this brought sin to the earth.

For ruining humanity Sera and Adam were cast out of the garden into the darkest depths of the Earth, where they could only see the worst humanity had to offer and never seeing the good.

Knowing she made an unforgivable mistake, Sera became deeply depressed.

Adam became determined to find a way to help make things better, not just for Hell but for his mama too.

-

It was extermination day and Adam, the prince of Hell always went out afterwards to survey the damage. Most people never took his help, telling him to fuck off, but he still offered it.

Adam sighed: Might as well head back.

He decided to take a short cut through an alleyway and that was when he saw him.

A blonde haired man was leaning against the dumpster clearly hurt and even though he clearly needed help Adam couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

Adam went over: Are you okay? Do you want some help?

Lucifer opened his eyes and if it hadn't of been for the black and gold horns coming from brunette locks, he would have sworn he saw an angel.

Lucifer: Please.... I'm hurt....

Adam wrapped a head wound and helped him up: My name's Adam.

Lucifer smiled: Lucifer, it's nice to meet you..... Thank you.

Adam: You're welcome, let's get you inside. You can stay at my hotel until you're better.